A Bumble Bee Called…(Poem 36 of 99)

There is this bumble bee which follows me everywhere I go

 sounding like it is sitting perpetually in an electric chair

it bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzs

around my ears as if it is being electrocuted by my brainwaves

but I’m the one being sizzled with frustration

as nobody else can see it apart from me.

They say it’s all in my head and I should be able to

click my fingers and ignore this

high voltage disturbance.

It presents itself without making the slightest effort to look friendly

on days both dull and sunny, cold and warm.

It renders me unable to look in the mirror

unless I want to see vomit in human form

with bags under its eyes holding the

burden bought by sleepless nights

from the market of misery;

the market this little bee profits fatly from.

It donates no respite to the charitable cause of human striving

and contrary to other bees, there are no golden stripes

standing out like rainbows against the black of its reigning storm over me.

This all black little bee produces no honey sweetness.

The fucker I keep trying to squash like a game with two racquets, and a ball

I am certainly never having when it’s around me.

Last time I swung out to hit the buzzing bumbling bastard

I felt like Foreman against Ali, swinging madly,

but one touch from its antennae and I was down

on the canvass, like an artist’s brush stroke:

colour me blue.

It was there when I asked out my first girl in primary school and she said

she had an allergy to curry breath and I ran to the corner shop but couldn’t afford

mint flavoured gum to chew away my entrenched but isolating identity.

It was there when I was turned down for all those jobs that turned up my hopes …

(but then I’m glad it was because I didn’t really want a life in sales as a real life Willy Loman anyway).

It was there when Mum was taken into hospital for the first time and I realised there is more to a mother than washing clothes, cooking dinner and preventing me from catching and transmitting STDs.

It was there on the 25th of June 2009 when Michael Jackson transcended this ephemeral existence and whirled like a dervish up to Heaven, white glove, world’s love and all.

 It was there when I fell in love with that millionaire’s daughter with only 4 pence in my bank account. Desperate, I dreamed of her and I on a first date with my cut out coupons having a not-so-Happy Meal.

It was there like air, all around but invisible, yet felt, like tip pens leaving marks on my soul.

It was there, and it is hiding around the corner now. But I’m on my knees and I’m going to have a word with God and together we are going to knock this fucker flat.

This little bumble bee, this little bumble bee, one day, one day, will fly away from me.

This little bumble bee, this little bumble bee, one day, one day, will fly away from me.

This little bumble bee, this little bumble bee, one day, one day, will fly away

from me.

Dasein Petals © Copyright 2013

Poem 36 of 99 to raise money for operations for deformed, poverty stricken childrenSponsor me.

@DaseinPetals #99poems

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