Be Longing

Carpenter bees bored a hole in the wood
Framing my window, wagged their way inside;
Unable to leave, trapped themselves for good.
Between window and screen, they slowly died.

Outside, in the mailbox, resides a nest.
I can think of few places worse to build
Such a shelter for growth and deserved rest.
Hatchlings lay hot, smothered, entombed by bills.

Here I am, but little inconvenienced
By these poor inadvertent intrusions.
Wings seem suddenly less advantageous;
I'm quite pleased with my accommodations.