Incidental Poem by Patti Masterman

The wasp is talking by my ear
He has a low sultry voice whose effect
Is not entirely lost on me. But I wish him to be
Anyplace else. Wish his offspring great harm.
Would that I could splash gasoline on his nest and light it.

But no, he continues to hum his alien tongue only to me,
Whether war whelp or nursery rhyme,
A rippling vibration is parting the air like a cleaver
With intonations of coming pain.
His color the color of mud, of rotting carcasses
And algae clogged ponds. He whispers things to me
No human should ever be privy to.

I don't respect him and he seems to know this
But he doesn't care. He is programmed from birth,
Born full grown like Athena from Zeus' skull.
He has appropriated some alien's skeleton as his form,
From a planet where tiny armored beings count coals of fire.