A rhyming poem about battling wasps. |
I’m highly allergic to wasps and bees. They are as dangerous for me as snakes. Bees, wasps, hornets – I’ll kill any of these flying close, using whatever it takes. My back porch became home to colonies of wasps that were building nests in two places. I swore to slaughter them without apologies, to bring true horror to their little faces. Through the door to the porch into the fray I boldly went, fly swatter in right hand, bug spray can in my left, to make them pay for their setting up house where they were banned. A cloud of toxic mist engulfed the birdhouse where the first colony’s nest was inside. A parade of wasps hurried out. To douse them all with more spray directly applied was my plan … until they headed for my head. Like a scared mouse I turned and rushed away into the house as they circled overhead. My first assault surely had gone astray. As I watched, one by one the mad wasps flew to their house’s opening, only to be repelled by the bug spray. That’s when I knew the battle had turned in favor of me. The wasps soon scattered, flying out of sight. I returned to the porch, swatter and spray ready. Each wasp came back alone to fight. A dose of spray rendered each wasp my prey. As the wasp fell writhing on the porch’s floor, I hit it hard with the swatter and then stomped on it, killing the thing I abhor. Times like this make us feel like Manly Men! With this strategy of spray to first scatter, then pick off each lone wasp, I decimated both nests, filling the porch with wasp splatter. The victor, I danced as I celebrated. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |