A grandma poem (JI)

parcels

grandma

was stung on the top of the head

so she said

the unseen bee’s barb

like some erratic soldering-iron

rewired the circuits

setting off private pyrotechnics

and the smell of sparks

in the post-bee period

grandma packed brown paper parcels

and hid them under the bed

along with herself

for the war was at its height

the bombers overhead

loaded with bee-stings

but before the bee struck

when grandma was eccentric

rather than electric

she packed parcels too

beneath christmas wrappings

layers and layers of newspaper

cardboard boxes like russian dolls

there always lay

a dull green threepenny bit