Fire Ants

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by twofeet, Jul 23, 2011.

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  1. twofeet

    twofeet Well-Known Member

    The fire red ants
    washing like high surf
    over the mound
    over, way over, his ankles
    his calves, up like fire
    across like boiling oil
    until he forgot to move
    forgot to scream
    sitting on the ant pile,
    left there by his mom
    not on purpose
    just distracted with. . .

    Stingers like tiny Blue Shield
    razor blades and anyway
    he sits only wanting to die
    not dying
    not quite,
    not screaming
    just dying at the level
    of infected blood red
    even after Mrs. Gerbrandt
    clumped over in her high
    leather boot-shoes
    and lifted him out
    by the left arm

    He'll always be allergic
    to red fire ants. Maybe
    find a way
    to live without them.
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