Be(E) The Driver Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Be(e)the gripping driver,
hands wrapping up
the fiber of a running hue,

your steering wheel a buzz,
thunder's stretched-out
feathery tail, a voice crossing

a bridge over a roaring
rumbling river of folks
carrying night, black hats of hair.

All are planted on two pillars
of legs, a pair of walking scissors
cutting through earth's fabric.

(ii)

Be(e) the arched
man ager on wheels of feet,
the king dishing out
orders of morning dew

to stick on and on
grass and leaf, the world
on a lawn in a beehive

of buzzing humming
drumming folks
dancing in nectar's mouth.

The flower's ray pierces
through pollen with
seeds to raise
the world into a bower -

to glower and shower
dark corners with light
from the table lamp, the sun

in the living room,
where a bee sits in the couch
rising to the tower
of a fleeting beeping flight
in a white button flower.

(iii)

O orchid in your petal's sofa
sits the monarch
in the flashy mouth of a star
dropped to buzz out

serenades from a thousand
bees spinning the sky at night
with stars that sting -

an eclipse sitting in the king's
couch, where rioting stars

in a sky's rumble spray earth's screen
with a stamped sticky night
of man aging under a manager.