I piled my plate with ribs,
Potato salad and pulled pork,
Then grabbed a beer, a napkin
And my plastic knife and fork.
The picnic table beckoned
So we sat to have our meal,
Not knowing that our dinner
Would turn into an ordeal.
For out of nowhere there appeared
A yellowjacket pair,
Alighting on my plate, my food,
My beer, my hand, my hair.
Perhaps it was the honey
In the saucy-coated ribs
That attracted these invaders
Out to claim their rightful dibs.
I swatted and deflected them
But I could clearly see
That a peaceful, laid-back barbecue
This wasn't meant to bee!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.