where’s alfreddy who cuts
your grass or lifts your rake
when you’re not looking and
where’s the reliable gunfire
from the deuce-eights’
section eight doorways down
on twenty-eighth on
this last day of August lavender
all rotted at the bottom
splayed across the concrete
walk as you sit
barefoot on the porch steps
and watch without a thought
honeybees and bumblebees
ascend and drop in praise
of higher fragrances
and offer thanks there’s no
parade today for trayvon
on your street named
mlk jr way
because you’re that weary

so for this moment with
this breath you God
bless the bees