A short poem.
by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
The ants are back looking for my food
out from their hole in the dirt and weeds
through the gap in the sliding glass door
The ants are back looking for their food
and I don’t see them until they wind
around the trash can and chair legs
to corners un-swept and dots sticky
The ants are back looking for my food
and they are ready and I am not
I say tomorrow, they eat today
my food, their food, the ants go marching
one by one, they are ready, I am not
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