The Drowning Of The Ants

the ants in the bathtub
are trying to build a
nest
in the drainage
outlet.

in and out they go
but they ain’t dreaming of
Michelangelo
as I fill the tub
with hot water

enter and stretch
my 215 pounds
parallel
to the earth

the steaming water
rises

enters the
nest

in and out
they run and
swim

as my fat white flesh
floats
enjoying the water

all about me–
on and in and under the
water–
dead dots of
ants

I feel something crawling
on my face–
an ant!–
get it with my fingers–
“rotten son a bitch you!”–
crush it
rolling it
as its feelers whirl
at me

I throw it
into the water
with the rest.

–the Spaniard with the sword
and the dominions that have
disappeared:
lady in white with rose
no longer comes to actor’s grave
each year;
all my dogs are dead;
the barber near Konmore cuts hair
while drunk–

all the old victrolas that once sang
Caruso–

these are not very splendid times:
even the ants of the world
have gone
crazy.