BeeZeep (poem)

BeeZeep

What about that golden arm

Give it back, will you give it back

It would have been some other wife he’d rooked

An after-image looking spectral, beckoning through glass

Smashing sea waves shooting foam across the rocks

spliced-in footage

quick cuts from the door and back

Saying not why did you rob my grave

I asked you only this, and it was not to be sustained

Mammon trumps the gothic whimsy of a queen

No, but come to me

Embrace me

Don’t forsake that promise made me

BeeeeeeeeeeeeZeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

On this note of Messerschmitt-like strafing

Come fly with me, there’s time yet, yes time’s there

It hasn’t all gone horrid the adored one

Proven soon a clod of wax and hair

At the least we’ll see with eyes of seagulls

Plunge like Acapulcan divers over cliffs

And recall

In the fullness

The Rockford Files getting the culture right

With a knock at Irving Wallace

Normally the TV age’s groovy dance

Was jangly and robotic, often meant to be parodic

With a sixties smell of vinyl

But such clueless sport is biteless

BeeZeep

(2018, Stephanie Foster)