Hymenoptera
There was a wasp’s nest in the shed. When discovered, the wasp nation
was long gone, leaving behind a translucent sphere: a mini space ship or a
conch shell nestled in the warm rafters. Everyone said it was a blessing that I
had not known about it before. Unknown when it was being scouted out by some
pioneer wasps. Unknown the spectacular arrival of the queen: the polishing of
the mother ship. They knew, you see, my horror of insect infestations.
Even though the nest was empty I gave it a good spray with foam from the
ironmonger’s. The ship melted to the waiting sheet of newspaper as if a
capsized dinghy or a ridged, fat candle. I was relieved to find that not one
wasp soul had been left behind in the abandoned globe. Despite my many
misgivings and aversions, for days afterwards I felt so rude to have destroyed
their object so painstakingly constructed, and so much wood pulp chewed and
spat out. The wasps did not return to build a new ship, and spiders ruled the
shed again.
Jude Brigley is Welsh. She has been a teacher, an editor, a coach and a
performance poet. She is now writing more for the page.
Tags:
Short Fiction