they're sitting ducks
these late season wasps
blown in through office ducts
they buzz listlessly
on my windowsills
wander the bright panes
hunker idly for days.
I let them be, usually,
watch them wallow feebly
through these final days
keeping me beleaguered company
even their color less vibrant
than their summer peak
when they hover menacingly
around park picnics
always flitting out of reach
deftly dodging the electrified swatter
the metal meshed tennis racket
bought just to target them...
no, by this late in the year
the lust for revenge has cooled
and I feel little need to put an end
to a life now past its threatening prime
and so obviously nearing
a lethargic, peaceable conclusion.
