I wanted to marry the beekeeper.
I wanted to soothe his stings,
tell him that each one is a death,
a coffin filled by one of his adopted children
(thousands and thousands of them, sleeping in rows).
Another of his Queen’s soldiers lost in a misunderstood battle…
Let him teach me how to listen to their murmured symphony.
My beekeeper, the conductor
(behind the smoke screen).
Kick the ashes into the air with your soft soled shoes sweet man,
put them all to sleep.
Their sweet snoring, sounds like they’re humming our song…
Honey sandwiches for our picnic my dear?
You never cease to surprise me.
Sticky swallowings with that ‘school lunch flare’.
I lick my lips.
It’s time to open my parcel
(honey smeared on brown paper).
Stop biting your tongue,
we both know what these yellow booties mean to us.
We’ll make them soft shoes, we don’t want anyone to get hurt…
The babies will come in pairs you know.
You’ll kiss their foreheads as they sit in their pram,
I’ll take our little family out walking while you stay home to wash the windows
(too many little lives snuffed out, trying to reach you).
I know this makes you cry,
but only a little and you don’t wipe your tears away, they say this makes you more of a man…
The women whisper about us you know, my sweet bee man.
They say “That’s the beekeeper’s woman and his two bastard sons.”
But don’t worry my man,
my sweet, sweet man.
I know it’s all lies.
For our confession of love had one million witnesses.
Each guest gently humming me down the aisle…
Yr 12, Tauhara College