If you tell me the story, your story
does it ever become mine to tell?
I can tweak it
hide the details
so that they’ll never know it was you
and that I wasn’t even there
I can elaborate new details, make up the others involved
and leave out the part
that you told me about it at
my mother’s wake
after too much good Irish Whiskey
But what I won’t change
what I can’t change
–it really has to stay–
is that the story is about you in that suit
In that Bee Suit
trying to impress the girl by trying to fly
(the Irish Whiskey may have been there then as well)
trying to disprove the physics scholars
(you’ve always scorned higher education)
the physics scholars that cite
that bees cannot fly
You, the bee suit, and the balcony.
It’s too damn funny
to not be told again
until the next wake.