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By John I. Blair

The ants go marching by
Along a metal tube,
Hundreds of tiny beasts,
Head to tail west,
Tail to head east.

I’ve watched them
These weeks past,
Not knowing where
They’re coming from
Or where they’re going.

Oh I can see
The caravan extends
Into a hole beneath
The house roof,
No doubt a nest

Where ant queens rule,
Laying myriad eggs,
Trusting six-legged serfs
To bring food, guard,
Build, mend, clean, dig.

And at the other end?
What deeds of foraging
Take place? Loads of seeds?
Pet chow chomped?
June bugs dismembered?

I could sit here hours,
Days, months, years
And not be noticed
Or simply be avoided
While ant life persists,

If not for each (ant lives
I think ephemeral are),
Then for their myrmex universe
Where I am merely something big
That blocks the road.

©2019 John I. Blair, 5/25/2019

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