Laden with fruit
Like a tuber
She sinks and sways
Drunk on the honey
Fouled by the last flower’s nectar.
Squint eyed and smiling
This eunuch beast
Between petals and matriarch queens.
Through reticulate chambers
Lusty with wax
She scurries laughing
Under her ample load.
She survives the burden of this life
Wind blown and battered
Yet muscling on past the colors
Placed by Flora to guide her flight.
She does not see
The denizen drones who depend on her cargo.
She does not understand the meaning of her journey.
She knows no rest.
She battles wind and sun
Until that day when the instinctive barb
Blasts burns and bludgeons through
Leaving her hollow body
Flat and silent.
NOTE: Worker bees are female, a fact pointed out to me by my friend Liz. In the first draft of this poem I referred to them as male. Mea Culpa.