Poem 20150712

a million bees
is what he said

a million bees in the
hollowed out knothole
of the old oak

in the rising heat
under the shade of its own branches
the sluggish bees crawled
around the entrance
to the hive
each bee
a drop of water in a wave
an undulation of apiary activity

we stood on the trail
talking in whispers
though you couldn’t
even hear them humming

in my neighborhood
you used to see them swarm
inside the water valve boxes
near the sidewalk
escaping the concrete covers
through little keyholes
to look for nectar or maybe
better digs

in the end the city
would send someone to remove them
i never found out if they were relocated
but the evidence of their broken hives
cracked wax chambers dripping honey
remained, drying on the sidewalk
swarmed with ants