Photo by Heather McKean on Unsplash
Like tiny meatballs,
the bees nestled among the bitter greens and cheese.
I didn’t see them when I ate the pizza.
Soon, my throat began buzzing,
my stomach was tickled by
a hurricane of fluttering wings.
A lot of the bees escaped my mouth,
hoverering in a cloud over my hair.
Then they grabbed words I was thinking
in their sticky legs, random words like
taffeta, prawns, boneyard,
and flew out the window.
They flew, carrying their heavy loads, past
Ophelia’s house with the new paving stones,
past Christine’s house now becoming apartments.
They flew past the family living in the RV,
past the pot dispensary and the potholes.
Love is like that, right?
The fluttering in the stomach,
the drunken buzzing in the head.
It looks delicious at first,
so easy to gorge without looking too closely.
Then, it flies away into the soiled sky
covered with bandages in place of clouds.