Marching

A swarm of ants
crawling under my hands
making its way to the navel
walking into a dark and hairy tunnel
they march into it.

The brown bottle storing sugar
has been left open
a couple cubes; lying on the floral sheets
Ants are swarming around it.

The large speaker
emanating bass
trembles the ants away
they bite. they scratch.leave placard lying around.

A plate full of vermin
cultured in a hostile environment
is now a graveyard; shriveled and contracted bodies
Ants walk in and out
It’s a play field for them.

The old man
is grumpy and hairy
and rubs his big hands
on those ants; squishing their heads
Accidentally.

It burns.

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