Have you ever wanted a colony of bees to die
so you could see the pundits eating crow on TV?

          Of course they’d have to be the right bees
in the right state and kill the right crops owned by folks

          on the right. “Well, we just didn’t honestly know…”
they would say, scratching heads and thinking of their bank

         balances. The ecosystems need bees just like we
need glaciers. But I could take a big one sloughing off

          unexpected by some, flooding an oil rig or three,
then there would be an outcry to raise all platforms. We’ll be

          slowly shoring up glaciers, one carbon footprint
at a time. When I feel I need something big to shake me

          out of myself, my wife says go and write something then.
And what if it happens, I ask, thinking more of my words

          than she. And what if it does? her eyes roll, doubting
I could cause the Ross Ice shelf to calve sluggishly into the sea.

          Imagine those red state deniers drowning in a sea
of I-told-you-so jetsam what the-hell-now? flotsam.

           Though quixotic words don’t save the bees, you could,
instead of melting glaciers, you could write something sweet for me.