Oh to be short of life,
But heady and well drunken,
Like a bee that has no reason to fly with its
Two days left;
It has seen all of the sweetened wardresses it has needed
To see, and has slept with all of them,
So that it carries all of her names on its leg like tattoos,
Like battle tacks, like stars
Won in elementary:
Now belly as fat as to be tamed, it sleeps in the overweight
Penumbra of something that has been just as beautiful
For it is as it would be for any other
Fly-by-night creature of man:
For in the morning her lashes curl and drink on the body of
A man I have never seen;
And they will die together again, sharing each others’ bodies
For the life of a bumblebee, which makes good enough out of

by Robert Rorabeck

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.