you are like wasps
hiding in crevices
along the back patio,
swooping in to hover
around the barbecued flesh
that is meant for our mouths.

though we swat at your wings,
we know the stingers
are positioned, aimed,
ready for the bite
that will sacrifice your lives
in your haste for consumption.

in our hands we hold
the greasy meat
that could sustain us all.
if only you could feel
outside of your minuscule mouths
how tasty our coexistence could be.