The Browned Apiaries Of My Lastmuse Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now I can see that there is a tank in the sun:
Filled with bees and yellow jackets
Protecting their honey—
It is a wild basket up there in sky—an Easter
Bonnet
Where even the kindest of amphibians wish
To jump and to die:
There is the yellow flag I tried to steal away
From him—
There is the train's stowaway—
There is the blinding javelin:
That was never mine—I admit, I tried to steal
The omelets away from that cerulean god—but
He smelled me out before
This could become a really lucrative fairy tale—
And now it is just a song of unproductive measure—
The brown apiaries of my last muse
Have gone up to Ocala to enjoy her inlaw's fair
Weather—
But for tomorrow will be another for me—
The amber in my glass
Shall answer to my lips accordingly—and she will
Awaken—plagued as she does—
A flightless bird—a loveless dove.