Yellowjacket

This morning I went to get

My coffee, and had to

Squint at the thing on the

Wall–it was so big

I thought it was a

Miller moth, but recognizing

Colors, shape, patterns

Realized it was a

Yellowjacket, brightly

Striped. I stepped quickly

Past, looking for a vessel

Or glass to trap it

In, trying to find

A thin, sturdy piece of

Mail to slide between

Wall and cup's edge.

We stood at an impasse while I

Steeled my nerves, thinking of

Three summers ago when

Hornets built a

Nest in the wooden step

That led to the backyard;

How one flew up my shirt,

The force of its sting,

How it lingered for

Weeks, a vivid red

Reminder of my mistake:

Being unaware of my

Surroundings caused a

Pain that's now burned

Into my brain.

It is a showdown,

The insect afraid of

The beast before it,

Me, scared of this

Tiny being and its

Aggressive defense mechanism.

It twists to look at me, aware

Of the danger. I move to slip

The glass over its small

Shape, slide the

Piece of junk mail under (careful

not to squish its tiny

feet). It flies, the buzz

Muted but echoing in

The domed space,

I can feel the vibrations

Of its angry

Wings as it struggles

To find an escape,

The transparent cage

A confusion. I manage to get

To the front door with

My tiny prisoner,

Open with one hand

And lift my makeshift

Lid, slamming the screen door

Behind, checking to

Make sure it didn't follow

Me back into

The house,

But the creature

Wanted freedom

Just as much

As I do.