Where her pearling sisters lie

Explaining Football To A Bee

is difficult enough, more so during playoffs, but if you must,
leave a sliding door open during unseasonable weather and
forgo any unnecessary talk about global warming since she
wandered in looking for pollen and will likely struggle with
the spread formation or the play action option of a blossomed
offense seeking glory in the honeyed pistil of an end zone.



As she must not return flockless to the hive, ask her to sit beside you and give up the futility of testing such high clean windows that won’t open her an out anyway. Offer corn chips and hotwings, something cold to quench her fevered thorax, plead with queenly reverence not to buzz so loudly because this whistle from the officials might impact the outcome and, as this is as relevant a business as any involving photosynthesis and the punting game, she would serve well the keening catacombs where her pearling sisters lie polymorphously cool in cellulose hexagons as this might present a considerable evolutionary jump in interspecie communication if she could but recognize a nickel defense masquerading as a four rush seven-drop, something few bees truly appreciate for all the industry of their gather interfering with the dying passage of a game clock, the slow sun burning a green hole of guacamole in the table an hour before the beer brats are ready, the taco bar rife for hunger’s dull and deathly sting.

Joseph Gallo
January 13, 2008