I am watching an army of ants
pick apart the crust of my bread
(which is fine, because I was done eating,
and there wasn't enough butter on the crust anyway) ,
and I silently take a sip of my tea,
hoping not to disturb my guests
during this generous lunch party.
After all, I'm kind of a divine overseer by now.
I give the gift of bready life,
then I sit on my wicker chair and observe,
feet off of the ground
so that I am no longer a part of their world.
But it's not really a wicker chair.
It's actually a golden throne.
A throne for the God of the Ants.
As God of the Ants,
my patient morning of ant-watching pays off:
A small blue-and-yellow salamander slithers up,
stripes running down his spine,
stomping over my lunch party.
Now, it's not every day of divine observation
that you get this colorful reptilian treat.
So I must admit
when that mischievous little slitherhead smiled up at me,
he pulled an intervening gasp
from my almost-divine lips.
The disturbed guests at my party
all look up from their munching and marching,
turning a confused antennae at the nearby wicker chair,
suddenly noticing the surprised boy sitting on top.
The salamander, meanwhile,
escapes through the wide-eyed army
laughing.
Uncovered, I turn my head to the sky,
where I always supposed my overseer sat
on his wicker chair, tossing out unwanted bread crust,
and I think: Good job, man -
You must have seen some crazy shit in your time -
Some super-sized salamanders, I think -
to hold your breath through it all.
No flinching, no spotlight.
I, meanwhile,
am blushing in the spotlight of a thousand antennae.
I pick up my crust, and shoo out my guests.
Party's over, folks.
Get off my porch.
Chris Wrzesien
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/god-of-the-ants/
