Mud and Stings
Three wasps or hornets (I'm not clear)
Once stung my brother in his ear.
In memory, I hear his cries
Of shock and pain and pure surprise.
A horde of moms wiped off the blood
And slathered on a coat of mud,
An act my brother did endure,
Intuiting a soothing cure.
My bro was fine; the stings all healed
Yet what this incident revealed
Was how those women somehow knew,
Together, just what they should do.
Those moms are either old or dead
But what they did stuck in my head.
Communal help for one in need
Is recollection-worth, indeed.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2015
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