Gift of The Madwoman

She is buzzing, buzzing, out-of-control

The dream-car screeches as she blasts rock n’ roll

Taking sharp turns at kill-me-please speeds

Some small, unheard voice inside of her pleads —

But the driver is sober.


She’s just fucked in her mind —

A pissed-off Beehive –

Roiling inside.

A clueless kid prods it with a long wooden stick

As if length gave him safety.

Oh, what a cruel trick.

Angering, angering…

On the verge of attack.

This horned mass of stingers —

No protection from that.

(The mere thought of it makes the Madwoman laugh.)

Revenge bubbles imminent,

The Beehive? It cracks.

Out comes the raging, buzz-buzzing mass.

She can’t see the road now –

Blacked out and Blind.

The child drops the stick —

He’s been stung from behind.

Swarmed like a piece of ripe, bloody meat,

The child who Tricked

Now becomes Treat.

The driver, she crashes —

Is thrown to the street,

Head cracks like the beehive

Death her final defeat?

As her life filters out of her…

The child —

He breathes.

For once she is dead

The bees turn and they leave.

But the gift of the Madwoman

Burns bright and alive:

For the Ignorant Child

Has now become











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