Ant Sense

Its said memories which remain with you are the 

red-letter days you’d be lost without - maybe not 

leastways any wiser, yet differences it’d make to 

shyness dressed in those early years conspires 

to prevent erasure; remember peeing on ants at 

th’ roadside, awaiting the next vehicle you might 

chance a ride with; well - it became a celebrated 

poem you never guessed would touch readers 

Tho unless they experienced a similar loneliness 

on an empty road and sense of despair, chances 

weren’t too pretentious; and there’s the key, ants 

scurrying busily didn’t care, it’s as if what matters 

elsewhere isn’t their concern - until they’re nearly 

drowned - and hearken to greater happenstance 

I didn’t dream its sequence, but the next sedan 

stopped without any tribulation - we’d rapport it 

seems - both alone on a lonely highway - and I, 

clearly a young student on the thumb; or was it 

the ant’s scheme to rid themselves of my heed - 

well - whatever, it worked a charm for us each 

So to this day I remind myself a lesson - where 

impending focus is on despairing failure - bear 

toward a devil-may-care quality including more 

into the single continuum where we’re queued 

for benefits without isolation; and there are the 

ant’s rendering sense to any mystical equation 

© 2 March 2016, I. D. Carswell