Crouched in the grass,
my dad and sister argue about euthanasia.
"It was dying anyway,"
says my dad, looking desperate
as she coils and cracks.
"It was in pain. It couldn't fly.
It could barely walk.
And they don't live
very long anyway."
"So what?" She's crying.
"It was still alive."
My brother thinks,
oh God, the melodrama,
and sits back on the picnic rug.
He thinks the tears are put on.
He's probably right,
but they shake me anyway.
"It's a wasp," says my brother,
although no one
is paying attention.
"For crying out loud, it's
a wasp."
My mother bends forward
and pulls my sister back.
"Don't touch it, darling,"
she says. "They can sting you
even when they're dead."
A contest entry
- Just about anything by my1lovewearsdiapers.
450 points, ended September 16, 2008, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Wow, the title just intrigues us in
Very nice..
summers have always had the charm.. and so does memories. A very nice write.. full of innocence and love.. Thank you for sharing here on our site.
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Thank you
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