Two beekeepers discover a bath.
They last longer and smell better.
They explore the air in the bubbling clear
& will the wildflowers to fill our fields
with a bumblebee paradise, honey rub-a-dub.
With a biblical glow of skin awash in a tub,
the gardeners of honeycombs count their hives
while bumbling formulae for bungling landed funds and head-cases
like gift soaps more dense than the fat of dead poets
that our bee farmers press into fragrant deodorants for the barely buzzing.