Bees & Compassion
He flew with poise and energetic grace;
Stinger lancing out, if only you could see the look on his face.
But of course not you fool,
He’s a fucking bee.
Expressionless remorse as he hones in.
Does he perish in this seemingly endless tale?
Looping throughout history
Of the woman who squiggles and flaps and lays
Projecting life as he projects his end.
A wayward foe has entered the arena
Chemicals, heat, fluttering impossibly
No, he still does not see
But to be a bee one must not flee in the face of faceless intruders.
So away he goes
She senses
She mourns
The trajectory set, she’s glad they’ve met for their brief interlude
As life continues.
His lifeless body without sting, purpose or remorse.
Her life, less his body, with purpose and plenty of life.
Does she feel? Does she vibrate?
I mean, come on, she’s a fucking bee.
How much compassion are we talking about here?
~C
