bee poem

let’s call the bees the canaries
and the world the coalmine
we can be the miners

let’s call the
neonicotinide a potion
and the bees dead

dead dead, not just pretend dead
dead from the tree nectar

the poison potion wasn’t
bee poison
it was for the aphids
Cuz they excrete sticky goo
that drips on windshields

i’ll get a car for a windshield
here, you be the misterman
with a poisonpumper.
here’s the tree
a linden tree.

the Walmart parking lot
gets to be
the bee grave
the shoppers are eyewitnesses
and then they turn into mourners
then shoppers again
let’s have them call the bee police
or the insect vets
to pronounce the bees dead

we can have
a remote-controlled zamboni
come in and clean them up
i’ll be that guy
you be the mourners
no, you be the bees

 

By Polly Shyka

Featured image:  Bee © John Miles