Carpenter Bees in March


Carpenter Bees in March


These black and yellow wood-craving dive-bombers –

they offend so easily. In March, they love to stage their war


at the mere opening of a front door. Like there’s a geopolitical line

being crossed. Like spring is something for the possessing


and guarding.

Bees, please.


First of all, on behalf of everyone engaged in combat, a word

to carpenter bees: Calm down. Second, where have you been all winter?


Because I’ve been right here, going in and out this door

to my house. Third, and most important, my kids are deathly scared.


Without getting the UN involved, what I’m saying is: Don’t act

so self-determined, like you own the place, as if it’s me who’s interfering


with whatever it is that’s so damn precious to your tribe.

Also, the world does not revolve around your biological calendar


or work schedule. And perhaps you haven’t noticed,

but you’re not exactly on the front page, you’re not scrolling along


the ticker at the bottom of the moving screen,

you may or may not be getting a few hits on the Internet,


and, honestly, I haven’t read a single blog written by one of your kind

that’s even worth reading. Besides, as you must know,


some of your friends are exceptionally dangerous. There you have it:

guilty by association. Notwithstanding, I suppose we could – at the end of the day --


arrange for a summit to talk civilly about this matter

at more length. Sure, yes, I’d be happy to meet up at a flower petal.


You name the flower. I’ll Google it, then try to find it.


While we’re at it: maybe we could ask a fire ant or two or six hundred –

if they’re not busy or biting – to mediate.


Anyway, what I would say through an ant, I might as well say directly:

We are only humans, for God’s sake, not aliens.


There is absolutely no reason to be alarmed

when we open our doors to walk the earth.



The Right to Bear Arms

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