Wasp With Its Sand

Wasp With Its Sand

A wasp is the ward
Of a patch of beach
On the shore of
An artificial lake.

Sweeping the surface,
Just a few feet
From the sand,
Near parasols and towels.

From the shallow water
Anyone could see its
White stripes and
Scary stinger,

While it lazily patrolled
Above factory sand grains,
Half asleep it seemed
In flight appearing fatigued.

Coming down either water
Slide from an impossible tower,
After waiting in line in a
Frigid breeze on soaked stairs.

Some took to task in climb
Up a steel tower skeleton,
With sunscreen on, to queue
In line for two faded blue slides.

Then motioned by a young lifeguard,
After daydreaming at distant vistas
To catch idle attention and
Allowing to lay into either side.

Down the slick plumbing
And shot out to be
Reminded of the wasp
On the beach dully lurking.

It peered into picnics
And amused little kids
As they avoided it
While those in line were gone.

Bare feet coming back from
The spigot feel the uneven
Cement grains poking up
From a manmade lake floor,

While the sand wasp buzzes
And might dig in the grains,
Before taking off again to
Dozedly survey its domain.

Swimming up from the near deep
Until sloshing again near the
Beach, seeing once more
That busily wandering wasp.

It was distracted elsewhere
At last, so now a sandwich
Can be pulled from a cooler
Packed and brought from home.

Mid-meal, the wasp is seen
Drifting over other families,
But no one bothered to inspect,
Or look up and notice it.

The wasp never seemed to sting
And instead was curious,
Innocuously, of the tourists
Visiting his beachside territory.

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