An Aesthetic Rule for Life

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

A wasp just landed on my hand.  It moved

About a while and flew away.  A breeze

So tiny I could barely feel it proved

The threat was gone.  My feeling of unease

Was just as short as those antennae.  It,

The wasp, was perfect as a killing thing.

That black and orange announced it was a kit

For slaughter with a shiny poison sting.

But it was gone.  It left behind that wind,

That little wind of pure relief of pain

Avoided.  I felt myself chagrined

For fearing it, in fact a strong disdain

For noticing the risk.  I should have aimed

My eyes at beauty, keeping panic tamed.

~ Phillip Whidden