Sting in the Tail
A chaos of hot humming fills the yard
Where countless frantic bees create a mesh
Of winged futility. Beekeepers guard
Their heads with veils of wire, protect their flesh
With sticky gloves and khaki in a sweat
While doing their dishonest job of theft,
Or robbery. As thick as honey, heat
Retards their industry, and what is left
Of self-respect is only the desire
To heave the hives onto the truck without
Embarrassment of hernia. Admire
Them for their self-employment and spout
Warm precepts on the worker’s dignity—
And see if you convince the man or bee.