The Wasp

The shiny yellow insect,
Go-faster stripes of black.
Tiny wings whir quietly,
It crawls and climbs her back.

The darting of ebony eyes,
The dark helmet encases its head.
The wasp hops along lightly,
Searching for a place to bed.

Its legs, spindly; six.
The stretch of perfect skin.
A mouth yawns wide and sleepy,
A sharp sting, curved and thin.

The wasp emerges on her shoulder,
Its rear end brandished and fat.
The shriek is what topples the bug,
"What the hell- was that!?"

Spear sinking into flesh,
The poison seeps inside.
The shard of insect an arrowhead,
There's nowhere left to hide.

Her hand slaps down upon it,
Crushing the wasp's skull.
Its legs stretched above it,
Dead.