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Dancing on the water, balanced on molecules

you walk, insect Messiah-like, across

the surface tension that rolls in great swells

caused by the gravity of my vast human form.

It is South Carolina Hot.  The dogs pant.

The cats loll and sleep in fur coats under shade,

While I dip to wash away the heat of yard work.

Why am I surprised that a red wasp joins me?

Why wouldn’t you want cool water this hot day?

Most times we are at odds.  You spear me in

anger and fear, sting my wife and children,

and in reprisal or preemption I kill your kin

with chemicals and knock down your magnificent

papier-mache nests; with some sorrow despite your stings.

But today, in the heat, we are Southern brothers.

‘Hot enough for you?’ I leave you to drink, cool

and fly away.  You do not sting me. You say

‘fall is coming, the bag worms told me.’

We are amicable.

The next day I killed another nest,

above the front door.

I felt worst than before because

we swam together.

Vas en paix.

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