Poem: Ant Sting

 

 

Ant Sting

 

an irksome sockful of ants

swells my ankle to realize that 

mandibles are the forerunners of war.

 

i curse

 

the unsoothing graveyard of sun above,

and the crumbly switchbacks below,

 

unappeased by tender whiffs of sage,

or summery musks of rosemary.

 

yes, i curse both earth and sun

 

and too the loathsome nettles,

phacelia and longspur,

which jab from every niche

jab jab jab

 

as if the parched lack-of-soil 

was nothing but a chuckle of cracks

which dared seeds and insects

to try and call its frail scorn their home.

 

seeds and insects, yes

decillions and decillions of them,

accreted and attrited over eons and eons,

slow to stir the foamy pot of life--

life on earth, under the sun,

thus genesis, behold humanity, and so

 

i am kin of the arid proboscis,

i am cousin of the desert,

i am jealous and bitter,

stung as much as i sting and 

 

i fret and pinch, knowing full well 

we human stole secrets from the ants,

injected their mindless cruelty 

into our rote.

=======================================

9/18/25 changed a word or two ... 

9/12/25 ... eds 

7/27/25. ..  hate hate hate this poem ... 

6/21/24 ... heavy mods

12/10 ... lots of modifications to the second half.  brutal.