Treasure Island

A.j. Binash

(04-20-1988 / Dodgeville WI)

The Irony Of The Food Chain


One Sunday morning,
I skipped church.

Instead
I kissed the blue ink
Off the front page
Of the newspaper.

Out of the corner of my eye,
The ink smiled
Like an infant.

Headlines
Dripped
From my tear ducts.

I treated the mirror
Like a prostitute.

It blushed my reflection
Into a subliminal comfort.

I abused the heritage
Of Knuckle Walkers.

Dragging my calloused hands
Across gravel and concrete.

Sprinted
From the blushing mimicry.

Into a forest.
Donated by the U.S. Government.

Decaying
Among the living
Was a hollow log.

Inside,
Ants used it
As a place to nest.

Walking atop
The moss ridden splinters.

To feed
Their Queen
And her young.
Their laughter astonished me
While I urinated onto them.

The Food Chain
Had won.

Submitted: Friday, November 08, 2013
Edited: Friday, November 08, 2013

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