Maybe the little bumblebee
hates you, too–and the neighbors,
and your best friend,
and all the cashiers at all the places
you regular each bleary morning
with a “Have a nice rest of your day”
even when you know
they won’t. You’re silly, want the world
to be happy. For every stinking person
to win the lottery and go home
to calm dinner. You’re silly, how you want to feel
so normal. Ignore the pressure. The heat
isn’t compressing you
into shale coal.