untitled poem

Under the shade of a tree A bee buzzed by my ear It was a boiling-hot day But the bee was still working

And I wondered to myself, How long until the bee drops dead, And does its queen Miss this hardworking bee When its hardworking segmented body finally crumbles?

And I thought of the new shiny hotel Just down the road With its celebrity-chefs And celebrity-guests And admiring crowds

And I thought to myself, How long until all of them drop dead, And does anybody miss them When their celebrity mammary-glands (And celebrity sperm-sacs) Finally crumble?