Poetry corner

Monster wasp – by Gent Thunderblanket and Franz Wotsit

wasp

Picked on the wrong wasp fool.

An unbelievable beast it was rarely believed,
Brian’s pet wasp all his friends they agreed,
Such a good pet it was for a young buck,
Though the constant stinging yeah, that did suck

But the wasp was Brian’s for bad and for good,
He cared for it, paid for its education and food,
It wore the best clothes that could be provided,
For invertebrate tailors are often misguided

Stripy it was, bad tempered and surly,
Its owner, dear Brian still loved it most purely,
A habit of jam jars and pub garden cider,
Harsh buzzing of wings and its owner the rider

For Brian you see was a finger-width tall,
For him a matchbox was the size of a hall,
So a wasp was a monster to a man of his stature,
A brave choice of pet and tricky to capture

Yet one day Brian spied in a neighbouring field,
A similar bug but far better heeled,
It was stripy and fluffy so soft on his knees,
It seemed that he’d finally fallen for bees

The sort of pet you could show to your mum,
With it’s nicer demeanour and gentler humm,
All the advantages afforded to wasps,
But none of the stinging or tailoring costs

“I can’t keep them both for I am too little!”
Sighed Brian the height of a badger’s toy skittle,
“Can I abandon my overwrought wasp?”
“It’s not like I owe him. I’ve never been boss.”

So by nightfall Brian rushed out and ran to the hive,
So neat not like wasps nests that were always such dives,
He selected a bee the biggest he’d seen,
Not knowing he’d foolishly stolen the queen

It fought for a while but he resolute,
Tamed the queen bee and escaped with a hoot,
But bees are possessive of their majesty,
The swarm quickly roused and pursued with alacrity

It dawned on him quickly he’d made quite the blunder,
That bees were not pets and would tear him asunder,
The abandonment guilt for his old wasp felt funny,
But not as unpleasant as falling in honey

He’d fallen right off of his striped royal steed,
Into the stuff on which bears like to feed,
It closed round his ankles a sugary glue,
And closer and closer the angry swarm flew

The moral of this as the buzzing grew keener,
Thought Brian is that the grass is not greener,
A wasp is a wasp from cradle to grave,
Angry and surly but incredibly brave

But wasps feel abandonment issues like us,
Although they may hide it not making a fuss,
Too late this epiphany for treacherous Brian,
A thousand stings later he lay there just dying.

Photo by Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash

Good gardenstuffs! Is this site still limping along? Well I’ll be… More poetry possibly in the next decade only on MonkeyBroth.

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