Walking, we notice bees coming and
going through a crack in the bricks.
Hear the fractured hum – picture
tunnels, larvae, industry, drones,
honey dripping through the soft
mortar. A can of spray foam
in hand, we survey our options.
Imagine sealing them in, making
them the amber chips of one day
in the distant future. Come autumn,
the exterminator tells us, they'll either
die off, or they'll leave of their own accord.
If you really need them gone before that
you can always smoke them out.
Makes them drowsy, disoriented,
you'll see them bumping into each
other as they leave. They'll
just find someplace new to live.
Very humane. Ahead, behind,
the year unspools. We loosen
our grip on tomorrow. At the
foot of the wall, fallen
bees mark the spot.
Kate Hewett (she/her) is a queer poet, writer, live arts organiser and customer service advisor based in the North of England. She is the co-founder of Hand Mirror and writes about queerness, always. She is on Instagram at @kateleahhewett and online here: https://www.handmirror.online.