Arts + Scene » Poetry

The awful thing about ants

by

comment

They truck across my kitchen counter. Bathroom sink and floor.
Occupy my home and breech parameters.
The spray poison reeks
And fails
And I surrender.
They find sustenance in the discards
Hidden under my kitchen sink.
And when a lone explorer climbs my walls or traverses my coffee table
I marvel at the tiny feet.
And gently blow when I need to.
They land like paratroopers.

And then I plan a party and know my normal
Isn’t.

I offer fatal bait and they gorge.
Carry this hemlock to their nests and I awake to carnage in my bathroom.
A survivor walks a crooked line as it carries a body across the checkered floor.
Staggering, I imagine, until it lays its burden down with the other dead
The living have collected in a tiny mound
In front of my deep, white tub.

The bodies stick to a damp paper towel and I throw them in my garbage.
And must do it again and again before my guests arrive.
I cover them

So my guests
So I
Don’t see them.

Add a comment