Jon Riccio

We Say Hivemind, Negate the Honey

 

I watch Clash of the Titans with half my sight.

A yellowjacket colony upends the porch, Michelob

 

bouts from the couple upstairs, shouts louder

than the vulture thundering my chestnut VHS.

 

The lead’s married to a Real Housewife now, the

one who took a bee planetoid to her lips and told

 

them to venom the flesh. We say hivemind

thinking crowdsource.

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My visual field exam came back: left eye 50/100,

right 67, depth nectar drained.

 

                                  When the movie’s Kraken

goes from menace to petrified antifreeze I think

 

of Mildred Pierce, pulling for Veda even though

 

she is acrimony and hatbox glower,

a grifter Thumbelina with listeria mascara.

 

Many the hazards by way of

                                              or perpetrated on

                                                                          eyes.

 

Joan Crawford perplexed to the point of cigarette,

Eve Arden’s hindsight, noir lamé.