Which Reminds Me... - Poem by Diane Hine
Curiosity is fossicking on Mars. Doctors ordered rest
after February’s little spill (of current) but it’s doing
okay now. Curiosity’s sucky percussion drill assays
bits of Mars in a buzz-boing-sniff-slurp kind of way.
Which reminds me…
In 1972, I was sorting mail in Stoneville’s stamp-
sized post office/general store, and watching a bee
and a blowfly trying to exit through the storefront
window. Boing boing boing boing they went without
knocking themselves out, and buzz buzz buzz buzz,
trying to drill themselves out. They paused now and
then, to probe the solid air under their feet with tiny
probing bits – sniff sniff, or suck it up – slurp slurp.
I wondered which one would dehydrate first. Then
I saw the nice hippy couple (Stoneville’s only hippies)
watching the bee and the blowfly from outside. They
came in, so I found their mail, but they hadn’t come
for that. They fossicked in their fringed bags until
they found what they needed: a little container and
a slip of paper. Ever so gently, they rescued the bee.
While they were releasing the hippy happy bee
outside (what a trippy tale it would tail-waggle back
at the hive) , I swatted the blowfly with their mail. Bye
bye blowfly; some bugs get saved, some get swatted,
some desiccate on windowsills, some serendipitously
bounce through open windows. Lots of them try to
hammer-drill their way through solid glass. They’re
either dumb, or abreast with quantum tunnelling.
Bye bye blowfly, I dug your groovy gyroscopes; you
were prettier than a pale blue aerogram. Bye bye
aerogram too; emails are flightier than you.
Which reminds me…
someone I hadn’t heard from in years sent me an
email the other day. I tried to guess what it would
say but, I didn’t even know what I wanted it to say.
Rare emails are astonishing, like memos from Mars.
Far out Curiosity, I dig your sucky drill. What will you
find? I don’t mind. How about a way out riddle?
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Which Reminds Me... by Diane Hine
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You