In all seriousness,
I love ants.
Not in the house,
per se,
but on a sidewalk
or grass blade,
or how about
a dandelion stem?
Just an ant,
carrying, what?
Ten times its weight?
Eighty times?
Eight hundred times?
Who cares.
Look at the beaded thing,
an ambulatory speck of necklace,
shred of leaf in its arms,
doing its job so perfectly,
in such a small way,
never wondering
if it’s making a difference,
or questioning its existence.
It’s simply persistence
that gets it through the hours.
In a fit of innate work ethic,
it shows us all up.
Rise, now.
Don’t feel for the snooze button.
Swallow coffee if you must,
but let’s not wallow in sleep.
Lift your arms above your head.
Put your shirt on.
Be an ant for a day,
or longer if you can wait
out the fatigue of living.
Draw in your sweet second wind.
Resign yourself to be
a carrier of leaves,
a mighty worker,
an icon of effort.
Go now.
Make the Earth move.
