I also enlisted the word bank once again from the Sunday Whirl blog. Their bank of a dozen words was: singe, virus, spread, death (pretty uplifting so far, eh?), left, fly, stroke, call, lose, mask, lock, sell. Obviously, this list was inspired by our current situation as well. So what else could I write about? How about another threat, maybe not as widespread, but no less troubling? As usual, I used all twelve words from the bank, and this poem just happened to fall into a loose sort of sonnet structure - a "free verse sonnet", it you will.
As If There Wasn't Enough Bad News
Add to these unsettled times the murder wasp,
a hornet-sized predator with a sting
like the singe of metal, who swoops in like
a virus, spreading death through whole colonies
of honeybees, decapitating them with huge mandibles,
nothing left but their heads, as it flies their bodies
to its nest and masticates them,
food for its young. In one fell stroke, the hive
is a ghost town, and the wasp will come to call
another day, to kill another community,
little citizens we cannot afford to lose.
Meanwhile, we masked humans in lockdown
try to avoid another predator's sting,
and the news feeds us anything it can sell.