Vegan Uprising and the Sting Operation

I thought that I would never see

an untouched bowl of breakfast meat,

but one day it occurred to me,

while cooking for the family,

as vegans were approaching the

front door of my house urgently

and glaring condescendingly

with pitchforks, knives, and machetes,

that they don’t like the smell, you see,

of sausage made from pork or beef.

(But they sure like their Tofurkey!)

Our breakfast plates remained empty.

***

So, we drove to the library

to read up on this lifestyle free

of meat and eggs and fish and cheese,

of butter, honey, and ice cream,

of leather, fur, and ivory.

And late that afternoon, around three,

we drove back home most solemnly

to apologize most earnestly,

only to find them suddenly

surrounded by some honeybees

who stung them most emphatically

beneath our neighbor’s apple tree.

***

“Please, leave us be,” they yelled to the

unyielding swarm of angry bees,

and, flaunting their morality,

their clear superiority,

they pleaded so religiously,

“We only meant to protest the

immoral use of your honey

by those who argue fervently

their right to nature’s full bounty.”

The bees, hearing this desperate plea,

could only shake their heads, then they re-

treated to their hive, their queen.

***

The vegans, stung by their defeat

(and, not to mention, the bees),

walked over to my family

with bumps and knots, hurting badly,

and got down upon bended knee

to offer an apology

for their impromptu uprising.

They spoke with most humility,

while lacking moral clarity,

to say that they’re truly sorry

for taking up arms against me.

And I forgave them instantly.