The wasps are back, and one
found it’s way through the kitchen window,
either drawn to the scent of the primrose
resting in the vase, bright and blooming,
or you’ve got a nose for the jam she’s spread
thick between the Victoria sponge.

I know the feeling, guided by the sweet,
the calm, and soothing smells that might
bring comfort, that might satisfy hunger,
that might lend a mote of hope and relief
before the rains return.

I fan you out, and you bob and bounce
on the breeze, giddy and buzzing.
Go report to your colony, do what you must,
but there’ll be no cake left
when you return.