One of Those Days
Today twelve bumblebees ask if they can ride on my shoulders.
I am surprised, but I say “OK,” adding that,
“I’m not sure I’ll be passing many flowers,
but I’ll try and lean their way.
Do you prefer red, yellow, or blue,
tube, or open, or will any flower do?”
The bees say they are on vacation,
and just want a chance to ride along
and enjoy the view.
I never heard of bees on vacation,
but, then, I didn’t know they widened
their two compound and three simple eyes
to see more than flowers, friends, and hives.
I thought they danced about in dizzying circles
connecting food and home.
The bees inform me they cannot see red.
We set out.
Though usually I would point out the red berries,
I am silent as we pass a Toyon tree.
I climb a hill.
The ocean lies before us like a prayer.
The bees gasp and ask what it means.
I look at it as though I have two compound and three simple eyes,
and then, I close my eyes, and say,
“It is where we all come clean.”
