Honey Bee

The honey bee is still working.

As I sit on this small patch of grass

Beside the paved street, behind the steel fence,

In front of the concrete apartment building

A honey bee makes the rounds

In the small yellow flowers

At my feet. She goes over each one twice,

And in order, four flowers, circling clockwise

She does her job thoroughly, and

With enthusiasm, her small brown body

Bobbing up and down with her hum.

As I sit, to stay safe, as the human working world

Grinds to a halt—

While institutions spinning on the same

Stale foundations for decades

Come crashing down at the suddenness of it all—

The honey bee, with her singular focus, works.

I see more of them now, all over the grass,

Their heads bathed in bright yellow,

Their world, unshaken—

Their underlying mission

Moving in present time,

Undisturbed, and constant,

And without judgement.