Stagger

This bum bee
thinks he knows me.

Never trust stripes.
Never go to Mexico,

say the people
who never go to Mexico.

I thought maybe the bee
would attempt a trade,

maybe a drop of his comb
for a wedge of my hair.

But he kept running into me

with his slow dumb siege,

knocking on my jeans--

really, just bothering me.

I turned his stripes
into a mush of gold,

never quite forgiving.