Today in class, I cannot quite remember how we got on the topic of it, but we started talking about ants and how fun it was for me to kick over the ant hills...and like Professor Davidson says "write about it." So, keeping that in mind, I decided to write a poem about kicking over the ant hills...
I remember being five or six
squatting seriously on the ridge of the curb
staring intensely at the red brown of the hill,
the curvature of the mound,
entranced,
like a lion stalking prey.
I push off the balls of my feet
and stand,
straight as the lines of ants below,
looking down upon the little village
filled with furious insects.
Like a demonic being,
my foot juts out
scattering the bits and pieces,
the hopes and dreams of all the beings
inside that mound.
Creating chaos,
fear.
I watch,
giggling
as they scatter,
trying to pick up their lives,
trying to formulate again.
I turn
and step over,
onto the scattering ants
feeling intense humor,
a surge of sick happiness,
flow over me
like the waves of dirt
flowing through the crevices
and hallways of the mind.
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