POETRY

Say ants.
What made them small is time.
They are old.

They've seen catastrophes
that dwarf all our storms combined,
seen burning heat, bitter cold.

Resilient,
underground, hierarchical,
monarchic hence obedient.

What am I getting at?
In New York,
in our immodest Babel,

look what little it took
to break the ambient
day-to-day life.

Is it wise to build so high?
To need so much
food, power, strife,

little chips by the million,
wires by truckload,
humans in every nook?

This world that we live in,
in fury,
this unpredictable ball,

rushing through
cosmic debris,
now agitated, now in free fall,

the knowledge
of our collective past,
our grander than thou hast,

do they not point
rather obviously
to our fragility?

Should we not tone down
the arrogant stance
of the apogee man?

jam12