Bees in the Cavities
There are bees in the cavities,
and as todayís woebegone fall
of plaster drip-drops from the wall,
my home flaunts its damp majesty.
The loft-wasps trace angry zig-zags
across my unloved possessions,
and ants, in zealous processions
strafe my kitchen floor with scent-tags.
Deep in the orchardís steely hum
as I wrest apples from the jaws
of fruit flies, a piqued nettle claws
at my shins. On the roof, brick-crumb
ambles from chimney to gutter.
Round my bed, eager moths flutter.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Nina Parmenter
would be pleased to hear them.