The Wasps

They lived in the gray celled house, which they built-

on the cross brown street of the garden fence, secured with

unknown glue, that not even gale force winds can dislodge.

They lived and worked in the neighborhood, occupying their

time on the bell-shaped orange Aloe Vera flowers.   Purple,

pink ,red, and white clusters of crate myrtles, the swaying

oleanders-pink and white, they seamed to sway even when

there is no wind— blooming from stem to stem, top to bottom

and every where in between. D-r-a-w-n in by the cozy purple

centered-yellow okra flower, they worked.

They lived and worked in the neighborhood,occupying their

time on the red,white and pink roses, even the pretty yellow

pink and red hibiscuses, and don’t forget the reddish-orange

pomegranate, or the white delicate papaya blossoms, t-r-a-p-p-e-d

on the reddish -orange bulbed shaped cactus, or the yellowish-

red clit-shaped pigeon peas flower. They worked.

They lived and worked in the neighborhood,occupying their time

all summer long, when winter arrived, they abandoned their house

for some place else. What secrets do they hold? How did their

house get dislodged and falls to the ground? They disappeared.

Where did they go? Who would like to know?

They lived and worked in the neighborhood, they built strong fiber-

like houses and yet light as a feather. They are master builders.

They worked and worked all summer long, in the neighborhood,

they worked.