Sting

The sting in the tale

 

Inherently social, like rooks

Commonly a canopy of

Dull damoflauge green

No ‘here i am flower’

No wafting evening scent

No love lost

 

Beneath its jagged leaf

Delicate white hair

Adorns the underside

By which it gives us

Something to remember

Long after the brush:

That fizz of pain

on unprotected skin

Annoying, irritating

Tempting our desire to

Scratch, prolonging

All the more

The last laugh

 

Mendham 2010

 

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