by Robbie Q. Telfer
Bee Bee Goose
Bones have a way about them a goose skeleton tells us things about the goose who once wrapped her meat and guts around it we are given maybe a hundred geese per lifetime to get cooked and now yours and mine are simmering in the same pan, our goosey juices commingling we reach into our stuffed neck holes and remove each others’ wishbones to make the same wish and given this shared predicament I will fight for us together although if we get out of this you’re still not allowed in my WoW party. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what an enemy was until after I thought you were it. I don’t know what that makes us now, maybe the end of our film we are both in bloodslathered uniforms and we give each other a battle-weary nod and smirk and then the crane shot of the battlefield and it’s full of corpses but, like, symbolic ones, like the war is, like, a metaphor for, like, junior high but also white supremacy. All these poems we are writing will rise up into a fist of cartoon bees and all the public will see is the punch they will never know that individual bees can have individual beefs and still effectively get shit done. Groupthink and unity are born from the same queen but one is a drone and one is a worker. Bees don’t have internal skeletons. Cartoon bee fists do.