Thursday, September 15, 2016

The Sting

A bee stung me
on my neck - right here
where someday someone
will take my enfeebled pulse.

My glasses swelled.
My clothes medievalized.
I did that primal jig -
the one that opens

the gate to the next
world. I should have
been nicer to you.
I should have

been a way better
neighbour. I should have
dropped a coin
in that cup.

But alas! Whisper
the bee-filled woods
in my burning ear:
"You belong with us."

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