Mud on their mandibles the wasps
are carrying around my anger —
expensive black limiting the gold.
I am chewing paper, processing
letters claiming that put in the wrong
compartment these part bee part ant
creatures of summer can bring down
aeroplanes. The wasps take earth to air
and build their stalactite organ pipe
where they will choose to birth stingers,
daughters over sons, who are expected
to live for a year aculeate in half slumber
and answer to the name marginata.
(previously unpublished)