There are ants on the front porch
I watch them go about in their single file line
Some going left, some going right
Each tiny insect
Stops to converse with another
Their inaudible ant language
And carry their dead
Back to their underground taverns
Such workers, so dedicated
Maybe if we were more like ants....
There are ants when I walk to the grociery store
Plotting in my head what I will say
To the French guy who works there
Today is the day I will talk to him
Only to find it’s his day off
I watch the aphids in the lilies
In the flower section
How I love flowers
So beautiful inside and out
They don’t decieve
Alway beautiful
Even in death, such wonderful scents
Maybe if we were more like flowers....
There are ants when I walk home
Arms full of grocieries
I slowly walk across the blue bridge
The stretches over the lush canyon,
168 Freeway entrance and exit
I watch the homeless sleep
Under bits of cardboard far below in the green
And let the wind wrap around me
Flying in from the giant fluffy white clouds
In an endless blue sky
I gaze at the tall buildings in the distance
You can see everything from up here
And the wind wraps around me
So strong and free
Maybe if we were more like wind....
The ants are still on the front porch
When I get back
I set down the grocieries
And look at the potted flowers
It’s a shame they wont ever root and be free
They are prisoner here
To make welcome the front door
I watch a simple white butterfly
Flutter about the potted baby’s breath
So innocent, sweet
Beautiful, free, honest
Always happy as it floats around
Gorgeous scented nature
Maybe if we were more like butterflies....
There are ants inside the house
Crawling on the candy dish in the kitchen
With my finger
I squish every one of them
We need to change....
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