It’s all about the pheromones. Chemicals
and choreography. Chemicals and you’re a little
buzzed. Tiny yellow-faced drone, you tremor
your native tongue but bees, like humans,
are broken communicators. If bee A
finds pollen he can tell bee B where to find
it, but until bee B locates the gold dust
himself he cannot tell bee C where to go.
Are you trying to tell us something, bee? You’re
hungry. Endangered. Disconnected
because you seizure your pain, but of course
we close our ears. I’m sorry, digger,
carpenter, miner bee.
When the daisies have been plucked
and there is no one left
to buzz, then, bee,
we may hear you.