god save the queen

she rolls across the table

small, curled, unassuming

one of those

not uncapped, not set free

not chosen by thousands of tiny tongues

to reign

and birth a generation

eggs to be coaxed

into sweet, dancing workers

freddie mercury plays on the radio

the bin lorry arrives outside

beeping and grinding

the neighbours

are raising a union jack

and I pick up her delicate, furry body

avoiding the sting

not yet developed

touch one folded wing

never unfurled

the radio moves on to the news

announcing the jubilee weekend

it’s going to be a hot one

a real celebration

but not for her

my unborn queen

for her, there will be no ceremony

just this

her cell opened with a kitchen knife

to tumble her out at 3pm

in the sticky heat of may

becoming june

once she was fed the nectar of the gods

mouth to mouth

groomed for greatness

destined for this

arrested development

one of several, she didn’t quite make

the grade

I hear a swarm

lifting off from a hive

at the end of the garden

look up

watch them gather in the plum tree

a boiling black mass

surrounding their queen

there is nothing to be done

I put my queen in a pill box

switch off the radio

and pull on my bee suit

humming an imitation of johnny rotten

as I leave

Helen Smith