I recently had a reason to go through my old poetry, and I found this poem, which I wrote in 2001. It had potential, so I revised it, and I'm finally happy with it.
for one who feels he has the voice of an ant in a field of lawnmowers
(or Ants against the War Machine)
I have seen ants
marching
in columns
across a road
in Africa
where a war raged —
these men against those men,
those men against these —
but every man
stepping aside
for the steady line of army ants
unaware of tanks
or guns
or men with rifles.
And after,
I have looked
to see
the bones of a snake,
overcome by the slow
garrison
moving in unison —
each too small
to matter —
together
swallowing the serpent.
