New Use for a Hive Tool
https://images.app.goo.gl/TWPvPDBoGjhcxmJLA
I cannot recommend an afternoon
In bee yards—sun, sweat, stink of carbolic
Fumes, not to mention hotness of harpoon
Stings, each delivering vitriolic
Intensity of hatred, or the stench
Of burned pine needles filthtrating the air.
And then . . . the heaped up mess and cluttered bench,
The one seat in the rattling truck. It’s there
That Donald, with a tumor in his brain,
Abandoned control, flinging things about
And bashing in the dashboard from the strain
Of vileness in him and the past, no doubt—
..The past unbearable, the present worse.
….Like bees he filled the air with chemo curse.