Ants
There are
ants in
the tea
pot & the
butter dish
ants under
the rug
& in the
sugar jar
ants clustered
around a
crushed peanut
next to
the stove
ants in
his hair
shoes
loose-change
jar &
shaving kit.
He turns
a page
in the
book he’s
reading &
there’s an
ant on its
hind legs
waving its
feelers
at him.
He slams
the book
shut &
heads for
the kitchen.
Two shots
of rye
with a
beer chaser
& then
he showers
& puts
on clean
clothes.
Life is
an hour
glass full
of ants.
He flips
it over
& heads
out the door.
