untitled poem
Under the shade of a tree
A bee buzzed by my ear
It was a boiling-hot day
But the bee was still working
And I wondered to myself,
How long until the bee drops dead,
And does its queen
Miss this hardworking bee
When its hardworking segmented body
finally crumbles?
And I thought of the new shiny hotel
Just down the road
With its celebrity-chefs
And celebrity-guests
And admiring crowds
And I thought to myself,
How long until all of them drop dead,
And does anybody miss them
When their celebrity mammary-glands
(And celebrity sperm-sacs)
Finally crumble?