Bee Sting Poem by Michael Philips

Standing on the diving board
I received the electric knowledge
of how a bee sting feels.
Seeing me sob,
my swim instructor pretended to hunt for the culprit,
looking upwards all over as if there was a chance,
assuring me the bee was somewhere dead,
having lost its stinger.
The logic of Use-Stinger-Lose-Life felt like justice.

Years later, I wanted that to happen to Lindsey,
for her to get her comeuppance right away
after she inflicted the pain,
to have her suffer, head bowed,
wings falling out of control,
and I wanted to watch her lose frame by frame
like the little progressing lights
in a museum demonstration of the nervous system