Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Sonnet to the Ants With Which I Co-Exist

O ants. Six-legged bearers of formic acid
You, everpresent, omniscient,
you watch me while I sleep.
Or so says Terminex.

O ants. Tiny men of nature marching under
a pennant of work ethic.
Driven from my walls,
you moved into my car.

O ants. Slight misunderstood metaphors
Bitty mandibles, fearsome warriors.
You bite like Dennis Leary.
Ouch.

O ants. Your eggs, countless possibilities
for brothers and sisters,
Laid in the door linings
of my Passat.

And my Camaro.

O ants. You fragile creatures, overly fond
Of these worldly things.
I see your death
in a Bottle of Chlorox.

2 comments:

ElegantSnobbery said...

You are so much nicer to your ants than I am to mine. Mine get a haiku - same end result, though not as nicely put as your lovely sonnet.

Hark, ants! I hate you!
Die, you disgusting monsters!
*Spritz* *spritz* goes the Raid.

... Ah well, a poet I am not.

Maggie Stiefvater said...

It has a sort of fierce beauty to it, I'd wager.

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