Linguistic Erosion

Contributor: Michael Fontana - - The wasp flew outside our door, his little pinprick legs hauling in mud for construction of a nest. I responded by breaking out the broom and attacking his pile of mud with the bristles, breaking it out of the crevice in our fireplace, scattering it to the ground and then spraying it with wasp killer for good measure. He then flew up into my face, extending a leg forward as if for a handshake before speaking. His voice was all gravel like he smoked a pack a day. “Charlie the Wasp, Mike. You don’t mind if I call you Mike, right?” “I suppose not. I let the kid at the deli do it. You’re no more offensive than him.” “Where you get off wrecking my house, Mike?” He was a lanky purple sucker, his wings whirling to keep him afloat in front of my nose. “What do you mean?” I asked. I was in my 40s,...

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