I am not afraid of bees

Front lawns required time, labor, and money
They were meant to be remote
and awe inspiring. They obscure
as well as protect. 

 Which was where they waited. Ambush.
a painful memory, a small hole,
 a wound in the grass filled with them. 
  
Laughing and chasing bubbles,
then pain and screaming.  
Grandmother held me down, 
crushed them as they stung me. 
Inside my clothes, 
you could not simply brush them off.

 Later, she burned them. 
She taught me how to do it.  You wait 
until night, when air and ground are cool
when they are sluggish

 Use Kerosene. it does not explode
like gas. You'll need a rag. 
Walk softly for they can feel vibrations.
She smiled, her bony finger pointed 
at the burned out grass 
"Those ones will not hurt you again.  
But be careful, there may be more.  
I bought extra kerosene." 

 all of it came back to me 
I crushed them burrowing into the
dogs coat. I could not simply brush them off.
From a distance, it looked
like he was dancing.
My wife's scream, "They're killing him!",
as she ran covering the baby.   

 I had told her to watch out, be mindful
of hidden nests. Of buzzing fury and pain.
Yellow Jackets, territorial, able to sting and sting.  
She thought I was overly dramatic, 
unlike me she was not afraid of bees.

 The dog wasn't either though he knew not what they were
before and now He trembled, howled; they stung me, too. 
Poor dog, I promised: these ones will not hurt you again.