In august the yellowjackets appear
hovering over your arugula salad
making you question every bite
and sip of beer

by September they are fat and slow
landing on your plate
drunk on fermented berries
and fallen apples
pissed off looking for a fight
against the coming winter

Now as I eat my dinner
alone in my livingroom
I find them curled up
on the floor
embracing a b-b sized
empty space. Wings silent.
They come in off the wood pile
to a shock of heat great
enough to let go of all
that anger somehow stored up
from those months of sunshine