An unusual death

[tonywalt]

I was doing nothing when it happened
I heard the man say
it was nothing—
just a sting

I can see the hedgerow
summer thick
the low electric hum
and the sun
doing its work

A cold beer in my hand
a receipt folded twice
in my pocket
and you beside me
saying something small
about the heat

A single bee—
not a swarm
not a season
just one
wandering wrong

What are the chances
of that bee
finding me
of all the open air
all the drifting light
all the flowers
and choosing
this thin place
at my throat

I need some water
or shade
or a chair

I am swelling
quietly
from the inside

Nobody here
can explain it
and their voices
are fading

I have years
lined up ahead of me
like parked cars
I will not reach

and the man keeps saying
it happens
rarely -
very rarely

I think a long time ago
I cried
for smaller things

now it is only this—
a dot
a puncture
a wrong turn
in the air

when he said again
from a faraway place,

“It was just a sting—”

[tailor STATELY]

Anaphylaxis... all too real and potentially deadly as your poem's title reveals. Well crafted to tell the story of your unfortunate protagonist. Enjoyed

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[tonywalt]

Anaphylaxis... all too real and potentially deadly as your poem's title reveals. Well crafted to tell the story of your unfortunate protagonist. Enjoyed

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

Thanks Tailor Stately.