Incidental

The wasp is talking by my ear He has a low sultry voice whose effect Is not entirely lost on me. But I wish him to be Anyplace else. Wish his offspring great harm. Would that I could splash gasoline on his nest and light it. But no, he continues to hum his alien tongue only to me, Whether war whelp or nursery rhyme, A rippling vibration is parting the air like a cleaver With intonations of coming pain. His color the color of mud, of rotting carcasses And algae clogged ponds. He whispers things to me No human should ever be privy to. I don't respect him and he seems to know this But he doesn't care. He is programmed from birth, Born full grown like Athena from Zeus' skull. He has appropriated some alien's skeleton as his form, From a planet where tiny armored beings count coals of fire.