Three Poems

At what stage of their life do ants become bees?—Yahoo inquirer

In midlife. Sweeter, lighter. We cast off
the heavy crumbs we carried.

We no longer run. Unafraid to live high,
be left hanging. We do not hide.

We buzz. Not caring who is bothered.
We lose our bite and

hold tight our final sting.

I made Jesus-shaped pancakes but I burned them. Am I going to hell?—Yahoo inquirer

Was Jesus seated
or pointing?

Did the Jesuses run together?
The hems of their robes touch?

What were the signs
it was time
to turn him over?

Did his bodies break
when you lifted them?
Leave their mark
on your non-stick pan?

What would Jesus do
if you left him gooey?
Do you wonder:
perhaps he prefers
to be enflamed?

Did you tip the bottle
and pour out
every last drop
of maple syrup
at his feet?

Where is the internet located? And is it open to the public? Would like to take my son to see it on vacation.—Yahoo inquirer

I took my son to playland
and watched him tell every barefoot child
You require socks to play.
I took my son to school
and watched him prepare plastic eggs
on a cardboard stove.
I took my son to the edge of the lake
and snapped his photo before the cloud burst.
I took my son to the edge of what I knew
and we jumped in together.

Cover photo courtesy of Andrew Stapleton.