This poem is from my book, Escape From the Orchard of Wheels. It was also published in American Poetry Review. I think it's more about people than ants.
I wrote a poem yesterday or so, the first in about a year and half.
I wrote a poem yesterday or so, the first in about a year and half.
Best to All,
Owl
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Not So Vacant Lot
ants stream from a nipple,
blur of apricot roan.
no psalm binds them,
no sergeant-at-arms yells stop.
they scatter like drams
of fiery milk, curdling
as they go, gnashing emeralds
that skew in their mandibles,
and hounding nature
with snicks of flame.
a slyphid trips, blunders,
gets torn to gobbets,
each the size of a
matchstick head. the ants
ply their conga all day,
milling in droves, whirlpooling
to stuff their spoils
back down, into the adored
breast.
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There's a war going on in Europe and it involves two armies of ants the invaders which are the I seem to remember were Argentinian Ants who want to take over the world and the defenders were the European ants. The invaders have basically followed the coastline from the point of arrival in Iberia but after an aggressive start they were overstretched and now the European ants are regaining lost ground according to reports.
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