Poem 20150209

on the windshield the bee
motionless but not dead
i begin to back down the driveway
sure that it will fly off

i call it mr. bee, though
it is undoubtedly a drone
with no thoughts of queenly
just long days of scouting flowers,
finding nectar,
redistributing pollen

i tell it to fly off before
i get too far away from my house
“there are lot of flowering plants
in my backyard,” i say through the glass
not that it listens.

i tap on the glass and it doesn’t move

a light mist covers the glass too
but I don’t want to use the wipers
too many bees have perished already
and though it is only one bee
it’s my bee. my wife turns on the
defroster and warm air hits the glass
and my face

water evaporates, the bee starts to wake up
at a stop sign i press a finger against the glass
it responds to the added heat
moving its wings and legs
but still refuses to fly away
perhaps when i hit the freeway
the extra air will lift it up

it stays there until I drop her off at work
i am parked
and she is turning to go when i reach over
to touch the glass
to encourage mr. bee to fly off
and my hand hits the wiper

it’s swept
“oh shit!”
the wipers move
across the glass
i try to remember, pushup or pull down
to turn it off and manage to force the blades
across a third time
before shutting them off

she tells me the wipers just pushed it
to the corner of the window
and that it was moving around
but i wish i could have seen
mr. bee take to the air
under its own power
miles from where it went to sleep
and i will wonder all day
if it found its way home