a line of ants

the ants are back.

I see a long line of soldiers.
shiny

in their black armor.
marching

fearlessly from window
to door

to sink, to counter
then floor.

then back again with their
gold.

small bits, crumbs unswept
and left
behind

in hurry, or from spills,
or careless

eating.

you watch them work
so hard, up and up

back to the window,
where you open

it for them,
and salute their
charge.