“But what are they for?” she asked with a frown,
batting one off with her hand.
“Bees are for honey and pollinating;
these I don’t understand.”
“And what about you?” retorted the wasp,
its intellect under-rated.
“I’m made in the image of God myself;
I’ve scripture wherein it is stated.”
The sun was too hot for further debate,
her book a compelling attraction.
All this teleology soon made her groan;
she let the theology drop like a stone –
but the apple remained in contention.
© John Looker 2015
This poem was not written for any purpose; it sort of happened.