The Fable of the Bees

A Poem by Anon ymous

Paint me the Agent Orange sky.
I want to remember the fable of the bees.
You told it to me the weekend we lived
with the monks; told me we had to make
love quietly but it was ferocious; as if it
were our last time on earth. When we over-
heard the woman next door praying rosary,
we stifled laughs, hands over mouths;
comfortable in our sin. Then you pinned
my arms to the bed, kissed me hard;
whispered the story. Please. Paint it.
I want to feel the blood buzz; the flutter
of your dress in summer, the exploding of Monsanto.

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