A honey hive beats as a heart—
Combs much like arteries,
honey thick as blood.
As a heart beats with unity
to support a greater being.

If several little honeybees
were to rave on about
the importance of their American dream:
their patch of white picket lawn,
2.5 children, a dog,
then those honeybees, still small in stature,
would grow large in power and control,
surviving off tax-evading loopholes.

The beating hive would palpitate!
Any bee who cannot reach
the American dream
would not live as fruitfully!
“I’m a self-made bee, I earned my honey!”
Can’t you hear it now?
“It’s not my job to feed the hive,
the heart shall beat on its own.”
And alas, all those who felt no desire to advance,
those who were not greedy,
would fall to the knees
of the honeybees in pressed white collars.

Oh! fall at the knees of the bee
who established international trade,
the one who can drill quarts of oil,
who can flash family money.

What would they sacrifice,
those bees in ties and suits?
Widespread equality, overall efficiency?
Pollination of almonds
or flowers, blueberries, apples,
a sticky treat for bears and badgers?
Would we never again taste
hearts that drip with honey?

Yet I see happy badgers with bellies full
and almond trees growing wildly,
I see many hives that pump with blood,
as human greed does not exist
in a species that beat as one.