By Marcia Beckford
What attracted the first bee
Who ignored my gentle swats
It buzzed with a purpose
Unknown to me
No flowers on the patio table
Nor perfumed smells.
Not yet time to taste
the sweetness of a dessert
The Swahili Village restaurant’s
distinct aroma of Ethiopian spices,
herb covered meats, vegetables, starches.
Not thought of as typical bee dishes.
Friendly swats to discourage a painful sting
by a persistent scout bee
who later returned with a companion
perhaps attracted by the glass of water
My arms gestured, “come!
Drink, my friends.
We all thirst!”
Instead they bumble danced away
A tree stood nearby
exposed roots, sparse branches
surrounded in a square hole.
Perhaps that is one of their respite spot
Their visit a reminder of what?
A sting, venom, pain.
Or, perhaps of what we steal
their vomit, honey, sweetness