it takes great skill  
to fry ants--patience, precision,
the will to ****, omnipotence (or)
a mighty magnifying glass

we don’t hear scorched screams
and only the most refined noses
smell the funeral pyres  

some stay stone still
for their fiery executions  
others scurry about
looking for their queen  
as if she can save them
from our twisted wrist
that visits the sun’s
wrath upon them

while we watch
colonies ablaze,
in blissful silence
we, the ant killers