The Tao of Ants
Down here on the ground, we have good
perspective. We have eyes to see in watery mirrors
our spindled legs, hopes jointed at the knees.
We know what’s up—
windy birds, squirrel missiles, drop-torture
of rain, treaded nuance of sneakers. This doesn’t
make us say mantis prayers at night.
We don’t bother
looking for a better job. Let the caterpillar
make his round fuzzy investments. The way we see it,
all grass is the same. Any blade we polish will bend
for the cricket.
Why sand up our tunnels, sit caved in
our thoughts, scratch thoraxes one leg after another?
Why tune our antennae to futility waves?
We like to take risks—
we are fine dark comedians. Every crumb’s
an arena; we make stars of ourselves. Life is concrete
and mud. Any way that we face it, our future’s
microscopic—but our vision is clear.
from Autumn Sky Poetry 3 — by Laura Polley
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim