Beeston

"Artists must be sacrificed to their art. Like bees, they must put their lives into the sting they give."

                                                                                                     Letters and Social Aims, Inspiration

                                                                                                     Ralph Waldo Emerson

When you lived in Beeston, I wrote in scrawled ink

on the envelope and felt like I was writing 'I love you'

everytime I wrote Beeston.

Something that caught my heart strings

something like Bees stinging, the infernal buzz

of Summer's last, banging and banging against

one sheet of glass, in one spot, trying to get back

into the sun, trying to feel the wind, as if it were

the last. Beeston, somewhere near the end of the line,

I'm searching for the postal code, sealing the envelope.

standing in a train station, drinking bad coffee,

the tannoy speaks 'Beeston' and my lips burn.

As if I am being swarmed, I am stung.