Stings

By: Brian Choquet

shadows blend with the gravel

of their side street

we know the hornets 

will retreat

amicably 

to their hives snuggled under

roofs of plastic play homes 

and cotton candy skies

I frolic 

skipped past neighbors’

mailboxes 

romp in games 

of hopscotch on 

a dormant sidewalk

I keep it awake

the garden gnomes

enjoy the company 

they’ll sprout some small-talk

raked up from the previous day

them: a question

me: an answer

me again:

“how was the sun?”

they’re pasty but never burn

cheery for the workweek

but never grasp rapture

they’re the few that

know I’m a 

genuine ghost 

UV gifts me blisters

in Farmville 

constellations gift me

illumination in Words

With Friends 

I skip sleep from 10 p.m. 

to 6:30 in the morn 

windows carry an extra pair

of shades and layer of lamination 

Facebook doesn’t let just

anyone declare their 

safety unless hurricanes

rampage a sector of

the Internet’s nation 

or monsoons

spank your

pouted

injections

ghost die

from

complacency 

of suburbia

at all hours

just cuz we live 

different lives

night will always 

be safe

for those of my kin

that’s when hornets 

snooze and lose sight

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