Killing wasps

Big sister, brothers one and two and me
race from the room
become a box filled with a wasp
a mean straight line of hurt, all speed and spite.

We huddle by the door
enjoy our terror, clamour "Mum!"
Because it's dangerous -
it's not the same as soft, fatbodied bees.

"Don't make it angry!"
But we know it stands no chance
against a TES rolled tightly, that she'll crush it
to a sticky inkblot smear

and we'll forget it.
Get on with the business of our play.

We don't yet know
how, if she's stung, she'll swell
outside and in, until
the air stops in her throat, until
she chokes

she doesn't want to tell us that.

Or how we'll have to watch her, later
shrinking slowly
have to watch her being brave
her bones come clearer every day.