Scissors in hand, I approach the red-tubed hummingbird feeder.
A yellow brown wasp sucks sugar water.
No green-backed hummingbirds near.
I get ready to maliciously snip the wasp in half.
I nudge it away with the scissors’ point.
I hope the always heard, rarely seen, hummingbirds return.
And before that almost- perverse moment,
In the yard, a furry black tarantula wobbled across a brush pile
With a brown winged cockroach twisting in its tentacles.
I picked up a stone,
Was on the edge of crushing the pair,
Put the stone down,
And watched the tarantula carry the now-still roach off.
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, early January 214