Moving on from Swallowtail to Wasp

Last week it was the two-tailed swallowtail. This week, the paper wasp. Not just the wasp, but also the nest it leaves behind when summer is over and wasps go wherever wasps go.

Have you wondered how summer seems from the point of view of the paper wasp? Does it seem fleeting, over too soon, as it does from a human perspective? Or does it seem to drag on for ages, one long era of nothing but summer, birth to death, a whole life stretched out? It must be interesting to live in a world that knows no winter. I know, intellectually, that plenty of people live that way; I just have trouble imagining living that way myself.

The Life Cycle of the Wasp

As it turns out, the male wasps die off in winter–at least here in NE Ohio. And not from the cold. Apparently, they die from starvation. Wasps eat nectar, flies, aphids, larvae of beetles, caterpillars, etc. So I suppose, in warmer climates where they are likely to have year-round food, they probably die after they’ve worked themselves to their natural lifespan. The wasp-y equivalent of old age.

Queen wasps hibernate, instead of starving. The males impregnate them before they die, then the females winter in trees, under rocks, in your house if they can find a way in. Then the next year they start all over with a new generation.

So, now we’ve finished the bio lesson, now what?

It makes you feel kind of bad for the males. Doesn’t it? All that business with the nest building, bringing back food, raising young. Pollinating while they are out gathering food. Very industrious, those wasps. And then they end up starving to death.

On the other hand, I suppose wasp populations would get out of hand without following a natural cycle of life and death. And then the birds would have their beaks and bellies full, eating up all the excess wasps. There would be too many birds, and we’d have to start talking Hitchcock movies…

In any case, summer is really over when you see the empty paper wasp nest hanging around somewhere. We’re approaching the peak of summer in the US, but the wasps might see that as the start of the long downhill slide to the end.

Late Wasp Summer

Uncounted lies swarm the paper nest
glued to the eaves with spit and betrayal.

Sprawled beneath the sheets, each lies
to the other. Supposedly special. Plucked

from thousands or millions. Crawling,
biting, splay-legged or winged.

She asks no permission, drives herself through
the world the way the boring beetle claims

unripe fruit as nursery for larvae.
The world is never clean. Statistically, one

means nothing. It matters, it matters not,
it matters, it matters not…

A pile of leaves left half-bitten. Tasted,
unwanted, waiting for the broom.

If you enjoyed Late Wasp Summer

You’ll find more of my poems on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print.  Missed a poem of the week? Links to prior weeks are on this page.

Have a great week!