Here it comes:
ten contingents of thousands of fire ants
march up my toe cliffs and ridges, foot slopes and arcs.
they hook their mandibles into thin flesh;
inject venom with their stingers,
setting my sensitive nerves on fire.
Their fire spreads up the hills of my calves,
down through knee valleys and thigh plateaus,
until it reaches the buttocks mounts.
There the fire ants build their fire mounds
that burn throughout day and night.
Sometimes, the fire leaps its walls and
spreads up into the plains of my back,
burning into shoulder blades, and onwards.
Nothing can stop their march,
not even a change of posture;
even the famous pain fighters
have all lost their battles.
Only when they are satisfied, do
the fire ant troops retreat,
sometimes slowly, backing down;
sometimes suddenly, disappearing overnight.
The caves, plains, mounts, plateaus, valleys, ridges, and cliffs –
Alas! It’s only a Trojan celebration:
the fire ant soldiers have left their wooden horse behind;
the next attack is a sunrise away
and twice as ferocious.
Fire Ants. By Mokkie. CC A-S A 3.00 Unported license. via-
Bushfire, Tasmania, 2013. By Toni Fish. CCA 2.0 Generic license. via-
Fire Ant Queens Ready for Flight. By Lamiot. CC A-S A 3.0 Unported license. via-
Fire Ants on Water. By Turnbull FL. CC A-S A 3.0 Unported license. via-