The honeypot on Autumn's windowsill. A swarm of wasps gorging themselves on the inside of a used up discarded jamjar, then realisng that they can’t escape the sticky sides of the jar because their wings are drenched in sugary red syrup. Hind legs, middle legs, forelegs slipping serially on the upright surface. Black and yellow covered in red. Their antenae wilting under the syrupy weight. By the end of the day they had licked with their wasp tongues the inside clean and lay ontop of each other, drunk as fourteen porters, beyond self control, limbs and wings in crazed but unproductive motion like blinded serpents, powered by the biggest sugar rush in the history of Yellowjackets. Nature is greedy. I eventually got bored enough to bin the jar - a microcosm of insanity hermetically sealed and hidden in otherwise unremarkable domestic waste. Probably still writhing to no end, those that weren’t dead. I wonder do they sting each other, out of competition or even by accident.. I wonder does it hurt when you're high on Bonne Maman Jam? There's something distressing about lifeless living or dead things piled one ontop of the other.
Posts
