Getting the Job Done

Sometimes it would take days to get the job done
and you had to be a good shot; to hit
the remaining one yellow jacket
as it scrabbled on its grey paper nest.

Even then you'd need to keep shooting 
'til the white-topped egg chamber nest 
loosened from the farmhouse eave and fell
tattered to the ground.

Daddy had no time to waste on such things
he'd fill a tin can to the top
with gasoline siphoned from the black Chevy truck 
using part of a green garden hose.

They'd die in an instant, absolute zero, 
all motion stopped and 
drip to the ground fetal-like
in tiger-striped crisp crescent arcs.

It was all so fast, way too fast,
for boys in the summertime sun.
Our first shot brought the swarm alive. 
Attack! Attack! Attack!

They'd sometimes chase us into the house
behind the protective screen door.
We'd wait til they calmed, then sneak back up
and let them have it again

After a bit, an hour or so,
they'd not even respond,
building their nest, laying their eggs
as bb's picked them off one-by-one.

But even then an angry rogue might say
enough is enough and mount a solo attack. 
He'd chase us off, but we'd be back 
cocking our Daisys and letting them have it again


Kenny A. Chaffin - 2/16/01