Windshield Wasp

Wasp on the windshield, wind power so strong.
Fifty miles per hour. The fastest you’ve flown.

You withstand the torture you’re put through while I drive.
But you’re abandoning your family: you’re leaving the hive.

Just to stick to my windshield? To go speed never tried?
To prove something against others who’ve attempted and died?

I should swipe you away for your selfish thrills.
Or speed up to a point where the wind finally kills.

But you’re just a wasp. A stupid insect.
And inside me, with sympathy, you somehow infect.

I maintain my speed. Wings shake on your back.
Then I notice some raindrops begin their attack!

Now I have a choice to wipe rain away
Or to drive slightly blinded on this overcast day.

Will you survive my blades? Will you drown in the rain?
Does your family miss you? Are you causing them pain?

I drive a little further as drops collect quickly.
Your footing is compromised: the wet surface, less sticky.

Finally, you dash off. Your fate is unknown.
I’m driving in the rain, once again, all alone.

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