before supper
my sister in law blotted up pissants
by the sink with a wet paper towel
and my head swam in horror
because when I wash my dishes
before I fill the sink
I run the thinnest slip of water
down an edge of the basin
and cued by the water’s vibration
the ants begin to line up
and march across plates and knives
along the lips of cups
up and then across the divider
following orders not meant for my blunted senses
disappearing through the counter’s seam 
then I rescue the drifters
stranded on tine of a fork
or the rim of a bowl
the least of these