Back when I was afraid of bees
with a fear most grave and sober;
I would flinch when they’d flyover,
would shrink and beg my mother, “Please
let me stay inside away from these!”
Whining from May to October.
Yes, I was once afraid of bees
but now I see with eyes more sober
those drunkards begging on their knees
for one last sip from the clover
then stumbling home like hungover
bros blown back and forth in the breeze,
and I am no longer afraid of bees.