Ken Arneson
Blown back off feet
  pro-keds tied in double knots
a wrist looped tightly and
  the smell of burning string

Far above the crowd of frowning adults
  the flashing red and white
    the ear splitting sirens
plastic bloodshot eyes stare
  intently from atop the power pole

Ominous and proud
  Cheap and torn and tightly lodged
An appendage of white yarn
  lies severed in a puddle

Several months from now
  he'll still be there
weathered and ripped
  his stinger gone
    his sting forgotten