Still, I am a man of dedication, and I am committed to participating with another day of National Writing Project's #WriteOut. I went with a Count the Pollinators poem. I thought they were pollinators, at least. Nope, they were hunters. I value their life nonetheless and I've actually learned a lot from communing with them.
It's Sunday. I admit, I am extremely tired. I see, however, a window ahead and know that there might be gentler days where I can catch up with my thoughts.
In the meantime, another poem.
Day 8 - Just Wondering
#WriteOut ’25
b.r. crandall
I’ve been wondering what a pest we are,
creating aisles in hardware stores to tame
wasp-nests, rabbits, mice, and moles…
& admit I wandered with a credit card
to figure out a human plan before I realized
my size, the nature of it all, and the sting
that needn’t occur.
I hired a bee-keeper to give me advice.
“Wait it out,” he said, “And no, they’re not
honeybees so I’m leaving them with you.
We’re expecting a frost, and their jackets
won’t be warm enough.
But each morning I find a yellow fellow or two
wandering on my front porch - my guess is
they had a last rendezvous with a Queen.
Delirious..they are simply looking for a way
to survive after a night of ecstasy.
They’re designed to die, anyways,
and I’ll always be a fan of matriarchs.
It doesn’t take too much logic to see
the superiority of any female species.
Political parties approached my door
this afternoon as I was emancipating
the striped dudes, buzzing on my porch
in search of meaning.
I believe they wanted another breath
(I would), so I capture them & set them
outside.
They hit a pine tree as if drunk.
Who would have thunk they were miracles.
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