I cup my hand
capture water
pour it over
the little black ant;
it is washed away.

And instantly
my brain
demands
Do you know what
                                     you are guilty of?

I stare at the drain.
The ant is gone.
I am guilty of this.

Who are you
                         to decide
                                          who lives and
                                                             ­       who dies?
What makes you better than an ant?
From his perspective you are just as
Anonymous
and Meaningless
as he looks to you.

Water drips down my back and it is silent
save for the melody of droplets on tile.

What gives you the right to this space?
Why was his mere presence so offensive?
Why are you special?

Is it the ease with which you killed him?
You could do it
                             and so you did it?

*Does your power make you feel strong?

Imagine letting him live
wandering these tiled walls;
Aren't you glad you stopped it?