Insect Landscape

29 Jul

Tickling as it walks

the spider traverses my chestscape

as I lie upon the open lawn

in the sun.

Tiny and harmless,

I relish its movements.

 

And next to me, another friend:

It looks like it’s Red Ant

a-wandering.

Hello, Red Ant,

In the grass-forests rummaging,

how are things with you?

What’s new and how d’you do?

 

I like you Red Ant

You are solid and dependable.

I would almost let you climb up

and roam the sparse-haired savana

of my skin, as well;

but I know what you are like.

 

You would abuse the privilege,

with your spot of searing acid

spewed forth bravely;

a suicidal mission

against an enormous enemy.

You would take one for the team

unthinkingly.

Like the perfect soldier

undaunted in the face

of me, your world-filling foe.

 

Except I am not your foe,

little ant, not me,

I’m here to bask, not bite,

and so if I might, I’ll just lay

here beside you a little while

as you go about your industrious day.

 

I like to do this;

lie on the summer grass in the sun

lie prone, immobile, like a landscape feature,

insect-crossed and edificial

like a temperate Ayer’s Rock.

 

To the insects, and to the bugs,

And to the worms, as well,

I am a mountain,

or at least a significant

landscape feature.

 

But to the plane passing overhead

(and to the skies, to God)

I myself am the ant,

Sprawling and burning in the sun.

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