Ants In My Friends' House. Poem by Miki Byrne

The ants formed a line.
Tiny bodies so tightly packed
That it looked like a solid entity.
Yet it moved. Wriggled and shimmied.
It snaked from the skirting board.
Flowed like a stream till it hit the wooden foot
At the sofa's corner. The line ascended.
A million minute feet moving in unison.
Over the arm, under the cushion, down again
To the floor. Cut corner-wise across the Navajo rug.
Like a trickle of ink spilt upon the bright weave.
The ants flowed across the fireplace.
Then turned as one along the next skirting board
Before they disappeared into a hole.
The line diminished like a ribbon
Being pulled through closed fingers,
Till the last tiny creature had gone.
Out of the four people in the room
I was the only one to register surprise.