Andrew's Cabin

I remember, yes, I remember, the wasp nest in the lawn. I remember, oh-yes, I remember, the smell of hot tar. I remember, uh-huh, I remember, the way your eyelids swelled shut, from the stingers, burning in a forest fire heat. I remember the red rubber boots you wore. I remember falling off the side of your roof, landing on a pad of honeycomb, and unleashing the hordes of little stingers. The way you waddle-ran, in boots too big, to try and escape the tiny furies. I remember the sound of the vacuum cleaner, sucking in, with a woosh, the little bastards that clung to my polar fleece. I remember playing star-fox, munching on chips, then going in the yard with new plastic army gear. You threw your knife on the roof, and I mine. We both knew we wanted them back, but only I braved the roof. Too small to climb right, and you yelling warnings, we never had a chance. I remember the way they swarmed, wasn't it scary? I remember exacting our revenge hours later, trapping a wasp in the freezer, waiting until it died. I remember the first time I went to your cabin, Andrew Kline.