wasp

I’ve a capacity for cruelty.

And I’ll be the first to say

I know

it’s wrong,

to let the darkness in to play (in from the rain)

without checking intentions

at the door.

I want

to hurt sometimes,

to crush these friends of mine—

pressing efforts into dust so fine

that it’s not.

So wasteful to leave

hard-earned apples in the sun

just to prove

they’re yours to rot.

But I do.

I leave them blue.

And in those seconds while the wasps descend,

I think I finally understand

You.