I tell you a tale as big as a kite,
and I fly it into your fig tree.
It rattles the wasps from their
work in your figs, their offices
of pollinating, egg-laying, death.
They are annoyed, and they sting
with the knowledge that
there’s no tale bigger than
their own. It is, they are certain,
the greatest story the sun ever told.
If it’s Tuesday p.m., check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
and theirs is a sharp tale as well when they sting…
of course most people think their tales are the best.
smiles.
nice bit of whimsy in this.
Thanks, Brian! Did you know some of the crunchy bits when you eat a dried fig … are wasps? Ewww!
Witty and wonderful write!
Thanks, Audrey. Glad you enjoyed it!
I really like this. Very clever, well written. Told my husband about the figs, the wasps – yuk.
Thanks, Myrna! Sorry about the disgusting fig fact. Apparently you’re OK if you eat fresh ones — but dried ones pretty much always have wasps. Mmmm, protein!
You’ve put me off dried figs now… My in-laws have a fig tree in their garden and I am always terrified of gathering figs because of the clouds of wasps buzzing around it.
But this poem is about so much more than figs and wasps…
Sorry about that, Marina! (And thanks.)
reminds me that we all tend to think our ales are more important than others — may we live with open minds and open hearts to receive the stories of others!
Indeed! That’s a great aspiration. Thanks, hisfirefly. 🙂