The Beekeeper

Retired from two careers. At sixty-two,
Lost his retirement when Monkey Wards
Went belly up—spent thirty-five years
Fixing old televisions, worn out refrigerators,
Broken mixers.

That is when he found the bees. Hive after hive
Of honeybees transported in winter to California’s
Central valley—seven trips in ten days once from Montana
To Modesto. That lasted until Argentina decided
To export their hives. Outsourced.

Now, an eighty-something year old living
In the back lot of the RV park, repairing
Old sprinklers and stopping by our rig
To chat and forget the state of the union
That seems to have forgotten him.

He remembers that the bees huddle together
During the thirty below winters near Great Falls.
I love his stories. We huddle for awhile.

Then his wife calls him back.
Still serving the queen bee long after
Dusk.

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