BEE-LESS
On my patio, a single bee
dances among the spritely flowers
like an ardent ballerina, flicks
my memory back to my bee life.
Grandma yowling when a bee
lodged in her house shoe, stung.
Mom delighted me reading Chandler’s
tale of Br’er Fox, stung surprised
at the The Laughing Place when
Br’er Rabbit tricked him into bashing
a hornet’s nest and skedaddling.
Bees at picnics, making us crouch and swat.
Swarming when I cut the grass as a teen.
Eating honey with Shirley from a comb we found.
As a hippie, honey over sugar in our decaf tea,
praised bees for their healthy sweetness.
Now this single bee is joined
by another, a tango across the petals.
I watch lazily in the hot sun,
doze off, flew away as I dreamt.
Wake up suddenly. Hadn’t seen
many bees in a while. Not nostalgia.
Terror.
© Vern Fein
A recent octogenarian, Vern Fein has published over 300 poems and short prose pieces in over 100 different sites. A few are: Gyroscope Review, Young Raven’s Review, Bindweed, *82 Review, River & South Review, Grey Sparrow Journal, and Rat’s Ass Review. His second poetry book—REFLECTION ON DOTS—was released late last year.
The Loch Raven Review 