The Pollinators (Fugue in Bee Minus)
listen to this poem
The bees from Idaho
were brought to the almond groves
as the Santa Ana was dying down.
Nomads arrived in 18 wheelers
looking for the valley of the sun.
They had never seen anything like it.
Box after box after box left empty.
The trees bloom in the fading
wind, dispersed colonies
“Colony Collapse Disorder”
echoes in the research labs
as the coded waggle dance wigs out.
Tube after tube after tube collected.
A potpourri of viruses, fungi
found in AIDS, neonicotinoids,
large single crop diets, all weaken,
everything tested under the sun,
even organic bees don’t return,
The Bees are not returning.
They bring in giant blowers
to simulate the Santa Ana,
pollinate the almond groves
and grapes. The bees get no
nutrition, die in a strange field.
Hive after hive after hive abandoned.
The sun on the valley floor
bakes the lost pollen, bees
that have fallen.
Hot helicopter buzzing
stirs up dust in the fields.
Farming this dirt, pesticide, toxic mix.
Cell after cell after cell unanswered.
Microwave pulses of radiation
confuse the bees in their weakened
condition, causing them to lose their way.
Under a naked sun, nomads pack
away the boxes and head