• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 07

Bee Line

It's the stings - they send me
straight into anaphylactic shock, dear,

that's why I always cover up in virgin blue
and narcotic pink, a colour combination

sure as honey's a cure-all, to distance the bees.
The pointy hat and black mourning veil?

an heirloom, passed from mother to daughter
down six generations. Oh, yes, the bees -

the same line my dear, or so I'm told,
since Noah's flood. Do you hear their hum?

A hum they've perfected in their bee tree
for as long as it has stood, this sycamore,

its roots in Dickbrook and its head
swathed in a pure neonicotinoid cloud.