She has one good bumblebee
which she leads about town
on a leash of clover.
It's as big as a Saint Bernard
but also extremely fragile.
People want to pet its long, shaggy coat.
These would be mostly whirling dervishes
out shopping for accessories.
When Lily winks they understand everything,
right down to the particle
of a butterfly's wing lodged
in her last good eye,
so the situation is avoided,
the potential for a cataclysm
is narrowly averted,
and the bumblebee lugs
its little bundle of shaved nerves
forward, on a mission
from some sick, young godhead.

Poet: James Tate
Poem: Head of a White Woman Winking

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Head of a White Woman Winking, has received 18 comments. Click here to read them, and perhaps post a comment of your own.