The yellowjacket clings to the lip of the lid,
sharing my passion fruit juice. Fall has come,
freed her from responsibility. No queen,
no longer, to fend for, feed.
She has now her own hunger, unslaked in summer’s toil
til now. She is all hunger. Drunk
on appetite, sipping for satiety, no surfeit until
a final fullness.
I have worked hard days in the sun, dust on my tongue, sweat
turning to dry salt bleaching my shirt. That was degrees ago, now
the cold light of a monitor watches my days and the sun
is my respite. But the taste, the texture, lingers.
So I slurp at her side, sharing her joy as forelegs wave with pleasure and
antennae still seek more, seek next.
Does she too let each slurp of juice linger just a bit?
Tasting that hint of enough; as close
as the next bright splash on my tongue.
