No Memorial

He lay splattered across my
wife’s emptied plate – now void
aside from this wasp’s corpse – flailed
by a fly-swatter repurposed:
wasp swapped for fly.

One wing conveniently
remains intact, shooting straight
up, like the arm of a child
anxious with an answer,
or a washroom request.

Of course, I grabbed the
dinnertime demon by the
sleeve and tossed him over
the guard rail into the
garden below.

No words were said over
his body; no proper burial;
no notice on some wasp website;
no memorial for him aside
from this poem.

4 thoughts on “No Memorial

  1. which memorial is, truth be told, quite profound. Maybe the wing was the request for notice…

  2. shoreacres says:

    Have you tried reading this aloud? “…wasp swapped…” is tough!

    That said, I really like the poem. It’s quite an interesting variation on the lilies of the field and birds of the air theme I remember hearing about!

    • agjorgenson says:

      Yes, indeed I have read it aloud. It seems that there is more than one way to tie a Gordian knot! But you are right… no lilies here, although the wasp may well become a bit of compost for a flower of some sort next year. The cycle of life is not all sunshine and roses, it seems!

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