Nine eleven twenty sixteen

For Nathan, who didn’t kill a wasp

You scoop a wasp out of
your beer and it flies away,
half-drunk, half-grateful,
out of that particular fate;

little droplets falling against
the curious shadow cast by
your glass (curious because
it is the evening of the day).

That night I slept better than
I had done in a long time.

I didn’t dream of the day we
all stood in stupor looking
at the sky,
although I wish I could sit
still in silence,

wondering at the stars.

Felix Maple is a professional geographer living in Paris, France. He was a volunteer paramedic for a while. He is British but has been living in France most of his life, which is confusing to him. He teaches geography at the University of Paris 8 (Vincennes – Saint-Denis) and writes poetry whenever he can. His work has been published in Brevity Poetry Review, Emerge Literary Journal, Eunoia Review, Red River Review, Rose Red Review, Napalm And Novocain and Visceral Uterus. His blog is at http://felix-maple.blogspot.fr.

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