A bumble bee had got me good;
I smarted from the sting.
I told my Daddy, ’cause I knew
He could fix anything.
He said that he knew just the cure,
While I stared at him wide-eyed.
He chewed tobacco, slapped on the sting
As I shuddered, horrified.
He said it would draw the poison out
If l’d leave it there awhile.
I asked “Why can’t you use water???”
While he quickly hid a smile.
I watched the brown ooze down my arm,
Was sick at the sight of it.
He said, “Tain’t the ‘baccer that’s the cure;
What draws it is the spit!”
Copyright © 1999 by moleta ruth mccarter.
