Like a two star general
When I open the writing desk of the secretary
I discover an invading army of ants, numberless but as one

My neglect of mopping up
The scattered crumbs from the battlefield
Of last night’s prolonged scrimmage against decent poetry

Is Painfully obvious.
Through my magnifying lens I’m awed
At the ants’ singular purpose, soldering their bounty

In a straight line down the desk leg
Across the floor and out the sliding glass door
To a hill camouflaged in your copious garden of delights.  I march

To the kitchen for supplies
But my return finds you standing 
By the secretary rooting about in a pile of composting

Books.  I can only look sheepish
The way you pivot your eyes for my attention
and say, hey, do you want to hear the two big things

I’m always asking myself?
How can we help the soil improve its figure
How can we make sure there’s room for us in the world