January 2005 / Volume VI / Issue I
Jason Floyd Williams

ants & generals.

First they sent in
the scouts.
And when they found
the half-open package
of Certs in the window-sill,
they brought in
the rest.
Like a pioneer caravan
headin’ towards a young California,
the ants came in waves.
We squished the ones that
bypassed the chemical, roadside
Bates motels w/ green, plastic
Army generals.
Patton ended up gettin’ a couple,
though Clay was the new,
insect-equivalent, Buffalo Bill.

Two days after all the
flattened dead ants were slung
over their living comrades’ shoulders,
the queen ant came
to visit me.

Maybe she was going to
call a cease-fire or
offer to pay the water bill
if we let them alone.

I stepped on her twice
& tossed the body
in the trash w/ coffee grinds
& egg shells before she could
say her position.
No U.N. debate club here.

Lust is a lot like that.
Ant infestation, I mean.
A few stray thoughts can car-pool
to much larger ideas &
And your heart becomes
a hive to hidden agendas,
plans & desires.
And it’s only when your girl finds
the Erotic Survivor video, a behavior
like  14 yr old boy who just stole a picture
of his aunt topless, that you realize
the impact.
Say, you haven’t rented a porn
in 500+ days, and you only watched
10 minutes of this one, and, if was yours,
you’d bury it in the backyard w/ the rest.
But it isn’t yours.
You’ve given up strip-clubs, dancers,
Penthouse mags, dubious massage parlors,
& now you give this up too.
Doin’ it in two year installments.
Cuz forever is easier
reached in pieces & love
is more valuable than some
big-titted Indian broads clammin’
it up w/ grungy, punk gals.