Ants, again.  I watch them caravan
along the bottom of my cabinets, and file
into the one that holds the honey jar.
Oh no you don’t.

I coldly orchestrate their deaths.  I smash
them with my middle finger, swipe them up
with a wet paper towel.  Some wriggle
as I rinse them down the drain.  I poison
them with bug spray.  Two days later,

the ants reappear.  Now I’m forced
to evacuate the contents of my cabinets;
scrub away any sugary residue; consolidate
the two half-full boxes of baking soda;
throw out the expired Oyster Sauce, a bag
of crystallized brown sugar and a packet
of lumpy Egg Drop Soup mix. Remaining
essentials are plastic-bagged, reassigned
on the shelves:  ant-proof cabinet space,
sweet with symmetry.