An ant scout wanders into my room

It’s antenna seeing things I can’t


It finds an apple core hidden in my bin

It leaves, out the front door

Returning with tens of thousands of ants

Flooding in

Organised groups, single file, regimented

Setting up logistics

Passing chunks of apple

To one another

Working as a close-knit team


What disgusts me isn’t the fact they’re grubby insects

Or they’re eating an old, rotten apple core

The juices still leaking in my bin

It’s the level of coordination

The intelligence

The teamwork

As they invade my home

It sickens me inside, right to the core




I invade theirs

I grab the ant killer powder

And kick it in, right deep inside their nest


That’ll teach the fuckers for being so clever


Author: Jack Bennett

Motorcyclist and Poet Riding and writing

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