The Life of an Ant


Photo by Leo Cardelli from Pexels.com




I’m dark

like the shoeshine,

on the pedestal

at her feet.


My tiny legs

can’t dance

after stained carpets

and rugged hills anymore.


Because they echo in a haunting of her—

The Queen.


A worker ant

whose home

doesn’t have doors.


The Queen:

whose life I’d give mine for.


The Queen.


I wanted to grow wings and fly once

Like her

But I think I’ll grow feathers instead.