by Coco Owen
Not only the bees, but the bats
Are dying off too—mysterious
Pheromones of human alarm.
It’s time for evasive maneuvers,
For people are dangerous when riled.
Maybe the hives’ slats gapped.
Habitats are ruined & halved,
Starving out the bees & the bats.
Birds riddled with toxins
Brood on thinned eggshells.
Without the birds and the bees getting it on,
Fructification will end: no more
Love-in swarms—no begats.
If there aren’t any bats, no one can echolocate:
Human lovers will get lost in the dark,
Bumbling toward each other in the all-together
Of naked’s musk & honeysuckle scent.
Coco Owen (website) is a stay-at-home poet and psychologist in Encino, California. She is on the board of independent Les Figues Press, and has had poetry published in the Antioch Review, The Journal, Tidal Basin Review, 1913: A Journal of Forms and Umbrella Journal.