21st Century Contrition

21st Century Contrition

Hello there, little honey bee!
I’ll move away, very slowly,
so you won’t need to sting me.
If you did, I’d mourn you deeply.

I’ll just stand here quietly, withdrawn,
I’ll just watch you from this gray lawn.
‘Cause if you sting me, who would carry on?
To do your work, after you’ve gone?

And please—
after you finish with these rows,
could you pollinate my tomatoes?
Unless you saw me and already chose
to hurry away from my hacks and hoes.

And oh—
I’m sorry if I had swat at you,
in the happier days of the last season or two.
I didn’t think then, even though I knew,
your hive had suffered from a virus or a flu.

My kind has known for quite a while,
we’re messing up our domicile.
We change the air, just for style.
I pray we’re past our boorish denial.

We learned through trial, to use our bigger brain,
to “get atop” the proverbial food chain.
And yet upon the earth, we left a stain,
for our brain became nature’s bane.

And yes—
“atop” meant more than procreate,
it meant to kill; not from need, but hate.
It eventually led us to this fate:
there aren’t enough bees to pollinate.

So now—
I notice you buzzing in my garden,
And swat you not, instead a pardon.
And yes I’ll cheer you, now and then,
and pray you’ll return here, once again.