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New Model Honeybee

There’s nothing you can do to stop it. A wind moves
over your ear, muffling
the music you thought you could hear from a car
parked outside, invisible, behind the next house. Microchip stocks

have risen dramatically in the past few weeks. Honey
is down. Honey is always down. The best men
are working on a solution. You can’t
do anything except watch
the TV special on the dogface boy.
The historical dogface boy. See how they all said
he was really a genius under
all that fur? I mean, I don’t want

to tell you what to do. But your worry is beginning
to seep. It’s flooding the local streets. The Interstates
are down to one lane. It’s not
just your worry. It’s becoming a pandemic. New laws

have dimmed home light bulbs. New laws forbid
the sale of baklava under all
but the most dire circumstances. New laws require the donation
of saran wrap to local scientific research stations.

When are you going to move closer on the couch? We don’t
have all night. You told me to wash
my bedclothes and I did. You told me
to get my affairs in order. What was the first sign? What

is this humming that washes my head like a wave?
O Europe! O ton of honey! A wind

moves through your emptied ribs. The ship’s fire
is put out by the water rushing into the hold.

Posted 02/14/10
This was originally published in Zone 3 Magazine
Comments (2)
i made an inknode acct just to put a comment here abt how much i love this poem. so so so so so so so much. i think abt it all the time.
09/11/14 7:56pm
I like it all but for the penultimate stanza. The final is a-okay with me. I'm on an endings-kick lately.
05/16/10 10:01pm