Poem and photo by Neil Donnelly
At the back of the house,
on my route to the compost place,
sudden overhead buzzing makes me
look up, and there on the eaves, a bee’s nest
and a swarm, now a squadron, zooming down, then
a blow, a clenched fist. I’m fast indoors. Faster still,
jacket off and onto the floor tumbles, a tiny, perfectly
formed, once incautious, too curious, reckless, teenage
wasp. It had been pursued with murderous intent and was
now lying motionless; its sting a raging furnace in my neck…
