Poem: The Potter Wasps

By: Neil Leadbeater


Wasp-waisted with black and gold among the citron bracts
the guêpes maçonnes of Surinam swarmed about our heads
so that when we tried to sweep them off
mob rule ensued.

What good could come of it,
this high-handed attitude raining down on our flesh?
It was a last resistance
that stung us into submission.

The next day you started again
determined to get their body-rage
down on to canvas –
that fierce anger which spoke so eloquently
of their need to put their wing-print
on everything in the world.


Categories: Poetry

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