It was a lazy, mazy, sunny afternoon
Until the buzzer went for us to scramble.
Z-zooming up in a glorious cloud,
My wingman right behind,
Earning his stripes.
A dizzying Z-zimmerman turn, then
Z-zipping in hard and fast out of the sun
Onto that arrogant, hairy forearm:
Its hand spraying lethal nerve gas
Into a toxic cloud.
We lost some heroes, but I z-zapped my sting load
Right into his beating wrist-pulse.
Then jinked hard left, and up and away in a glorious loop.
Down below, he was running, scared for his life
And so he should be:
A cloud of us around his head, neck and arms:
No quarter. There were deaths to avenge.
Exzhausted: He splashed down, like Buzz Aldrin, in a pool
Swarming with kids, some of us still buzzing in his shirt:
Drowning valiantly for their Queen.
They will be remembered.
PT Oct 2024
Comment.
This was me; climbing up into the upper parts of a French barn and disturbing a swarm of wild bees.
A dozen or so stings on each arm, and two days dizzy with remedies from the pharmacy. But how did the bees feel about it?
