I watch the war through my window,
impenetrable glass, and exo-hearted,
constructed when the insects started.
Don’t know how the combat ends, though.
I’ve become methodic and bionic
watching flies, the little black spies,
murmuring over and over their prizes,
stolen passwords by enemies atomic.
Bees keep watch, pausing past pane,
sentinels of the Nectar Brigade,
as red ants scale my window shade,
guardians of the Wholesome Grain.
They fight for food and passions dear,
the crickets charge the butterflies,
the flying wasps hold sabres high,
scream, “Sting or die” to preserve.
My backyard is their front line,
so I never one antenna favor,
dragonfly or beatle anger,
for fear their forces will combine
and insurrect all that’s mine.
NaPoWrMo Day 29. Today’s task on napowrimo.net was to write “in the window.” Imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene. I’ve taken my own spin on this by crafting some speculative verse. I hope you enjoy.
Artwork “Insects At War” by ITI Ion Vincent Danu