Green and overgrown, the June rains
have opened up the soil. Worms rubber-
neck the concrete to save themselves
from drowning. Uneasy, I step over them.
Too soft for my own good,
I used to get into trouble for crying.
Myself, now I try to be distant
and fair. Halfway successful,
I imagine a faceless something
with one hand, passing
one grain of sugar to an infinite line
of ants. With the other hand, it flattens
each honeyed ant dead.
The world hardens itself. Time
hardens then softens me.
This is an abstraction.
What I mean to say is,
nature is as cruel
as anything impartial.