Yellow jackets have one sting to spend —
thus the communal species legacy
dooms each individual to end
its life to keep the greater family free.
My foot labels the sudden sting abuse,
responds with startling pain, doesn’t forgive
the insect’s natural unconsidered use
of what its tribe demands to stay alive —
sacrifice one to leave the rest alone.
I drink a beer. I ice. My foot’s deceived
into believing most of the pain is gone.
Surely the watermelon I chose to leave
out on the table for children to eat was the
reason this kamikaze had to be.
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