Whatever Happens to Dead Bees

I almost screamed in surprise. 

There on the carpet a fluffy bulk,
a hulk quivering with death.

It was a bee, so much bigger
now it was in front of me,
nature's jumbo-jet dropped
from the air. Its great body 
shuddering, the sting
rearing up like a last erection.

And then collapse and stillness.
The bee’s soul sighs
and flies away to heaven’s garden.

I take great care scooping
it up in the newspaper, afraid
it would fall out or burst into life

and sting me for being too quick
to think it dead. I flicked
it into the garden to rot or be eaten

or whatever happens to dead bees.