To the Ants

I also have a poem about a spider. And about scarabs. But this is neither my first or last poem about ants. Nor is it finished, so constructive criticism and suggestions are appreciated, for those of you inclined. (Thanks to Josh & Julie for your comments last week. You may note some changes.)


To The Ants

If you stay, no good can come of it.
It will end in a way neither of us wants.
I know, you are just doing your job. You scout
for new ground, a place to raise a family,
the next home for a cluster of eggs.
But my task is to keep counters
clean of single-file lines, no matter
how handsome the individual parts
of the moving social whole.

I hope you know I admire you:
your strength, symmetry, absolute
dedication to the cause. How you care
for your dead, how you tidy up.
Even the way you create
chemicals to lay trails and hail nest mates
seems a feat too great for such a tiny creature.

But that’s just me. The next person
who comes along will not be so kind.
You will find a thumb blocking out the light
from the kitchen sun, until there is
only a darkness more absolute
than the deepest tunnels you dig.


c 4/05