I must apologize for having instilled an enormous fear in you that I’m going to say something I’ve said before in one of our hundreds of discussions - so great a fear that you spend most of your commenting time grappling with it - for that has not been my intent. Our views have usually been so diametrically opposed that the illusion of repetition has been created, I believe, on both sides. But I think it’s been repetition of underlying positions rather, for the most part, more than repetition of statements.

I wish you saw more in the poem than bees. Without the title, I can see how you would think that, but with the title as it is, the poem can hardly be about bees, except as a metaphor.

I thank you for your third paragraph. There are two things I fear about myself. One is becoming a repetitive jerk. The other is the possibility of unconscious closedmindedness, which is more sinister than outright bigotry.

Yes, I see from your comment above, that you partly agree with this, but you wobble and merely can't seem to decide.

I love it so much when you say, “I expect you to say . . .” It gives me the confidence to say anything and receive an “I told you so.” What we are dealing with here is what you call a “Scientifical accuracy alert.” You see, worker bees are females who cannot have sex. They never seek “manbees” or drones because they are built to be workers and have no sexual desires. That statement alone bunks most of your argument, especially that “In either event, you have a woman fearing (and by extension centering her existence around) sexual encounter with a man,” and "leaving-the-nest fear is ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS at its root man-centered." "[her] duty is to become impregnated and return home to rear children."

I do enjoy reading what you think I mean by what I write. It usually centers on some attitude or worldview that you claim I have and proceeds to explain to me how it is uncool. It is comforting to know that your recent bout with encouragement and kindness has subsided and we are back on an even keel.

Please take another look at th poem in this light and tell me what you think.

This is a very similar question to the one you asked above and which I answered. I believe now you are saying that since I have agreed that sex is the object of relationship, what is this emotional support crap all about? It’s the old misrepresent-and-then-clobber technique. Well, I stick with it – emotional support is the single most important element in relationship.

It is possible to vote again, overwriting your first vote. However, if I have to explain a poem then the poem does not adequately explain itself.

Yes, I see what you mean now about the other possible ending. The option, which she had all along, of taking two quick steps in a direction away from the oncoming car, never occurred to me. Of course, I see it now, she could have done that, and how I wish she had. No, it is a better thing she did considering her degenerative mental disease. It is part of the muddling that went on in my head. Thanks again.

To answer your question: A good relationship is good because of the emotional support it provides. This, of course, is a typical female view that belittles the much more natural animal instincts and gives rise (pardon the pun) to words ke “merely.”

To support my breasts so I don’t trip over them while walking, I look to the professional services of bra manufacturers, an option you might consider in solving your animal-based needs.

I am happy you have explained the simple economics of male sex to zodiac, thus saving me the effort. Relationship is indeed a poor alternative to the direct approach.

I want neither to encourage suicide nor discourage it with this poem. And I want no double ending here. I have strong personal feelings against suicide, but this is not a poem about my feelings. Nor is it autobiographical. What I failed to communicate is that it is a story, a true story. I often think that if a subject is not close to me I can write rather succinctly about it, and that if the subject or the people in the story are close to me, then it muddles within my feelings and comes out wrong. So I think it has come out here. This is a powerful story about love and respect of an old woman who cannot tell it. I am not going to give up very soon in my effort to tell it for her. I appreciate your comments.

I'm afraid she was not feeling super.

Sorry to give you that impression. As you can see this is a revision of a poem I posted a month ago. Most of the people I showed it to did not understand it then. That upset me because I was making no effort for double meanings or cloudy intent. This revision is an attempt to make the situation clear. It seems I may have failed in my second attempt.

I was hoping for it to be read only one way. There is no effort to conceal the truth of what happened here.

If by "tagumet" you mean "tegument" or skin, Baby Dumpling would not have died in old age.