You storm the kitchen like livid soldiers
in hollow combat
brandishing stingers,
no camouflage is cunning enough
to cover up your lethal colours -
sinful stripes of black, yellow.

Beads of ink, eyes of malice
flash as you swipe and violate
skin, in painful ******* - an evil act of love;
hateful wasp, what is it that you want?
What makes you lust for human blood?

You are the waste of summer:
the wretched lowlifes, airborne brats
and savage lads inducing fear
amongst both dogs and cats.

You circle workers
with your vicious sneer, possess
an uncanny absence
of all natural innocence.

Pleasure-seekers and noise-makers,
you ******* of August
buzzing at honey traps;
a sugar addiction your weakness,
your final collapse.

Flailing, you flap about
furious at human trickery;
Immersed, all syrupy
your wings weigh
like lead, and then
motionless you float;
at last, your crisp carcass
black and dead.