I bring the tablecloth
Across the marble
And marvel
As the ants make no
Effort to go
Ahead and scurry away.
Watermelon juice
From earlier in the day
Acting more like glue—
Syrup. Drowned in molasses.
My mother'd take passes
On killing the ants, giving
Them another chance at living.
I am not as nice.
I wipe once, twice
To make sure it doesn't stain.
If you listen closely,
Perhaps you'll hear
The ants crying in pain.