Sunday Afternoon as Oil Pours into the Gulf

Sunday Afternoon as Oil Pours into the Gulf

A very large man
riding a large tractor mower,
attached bin so that grass clippings
won’t have to be raked,
across his small suburban lawn

while his young son plays happily
driving his toy electric
Hummer SUV
up and down the driveway

while I watch, my large ass
planted in chair in an
air-conditioned house,
scanning the internet
for photos of the horror,
feeling sick
as I view them.

Four-word Lines

Four-Word Lines
May Swenson

Your eyes are just
like bees, and I
feel like a flower.
Their brown power makes
a breeze go over
my skin. When your
lashes ride down and
rise like brown bees’
legs, your prolonged gaze
makes my eyes gauze.
I wish we were
in some shade and
no swarm of other
eyes to know that
I’m a flower breathing
bare, laid open to
your bees’ warm stare.
I’d let you wade
in me and seize
with your eager brown
bees’ power a sweet
glistening at my core.

from New and Selected Things Taking Place

the bee is the fleur-de-lys in the flesh

from “The Fly”
Galway Kinnell

The bee is the fleur-de-lys in the flesh.
She has a tuft of the sun on her back.
She brings sexual love to the narcissus flower.
She sings of fulfillment only
and stings and dies, and
everything she ever touches
is opening, opening.