In the train today was a man
who had ants crawling all over him.
Red ants exploring
his grey shirt,
dirt-blue bag and
Startled me out of my morning train dreams–
and his tiny, warrior friends.
It was kind of weird, yet commonplace
that I thought about this man more than
he thought about himself.
He didn’t care, really
that the ants could be swimming in
his lunch box;
that they could be swarming
that they could be sliding down
his sweaty, sugary skin.
to be fair,
this uncaring man
looked like the kind of man
who wouldn’t care if his stinky pants
were a hive of