ants on a french fry in the park 

i too have carried my weight in sugar.
lifted teeth back to a wreckage. it is the hottest day
of the year & my brain is a bowl of wood. 
crouching down i watch as the ants work
as one organism. the little leash
marching away. the french fry,
undulating with their mouths. i do not know
if i crave to be the colony or their feast.
i imagine being taken apart so methodically.
my fried golden potato flesh in the arms
of the flock. o to be fodder for the queen 
deep within the soil. would it feel like
an exhale? lately, i have found it harder
& harder to breathe. i remember reading somewhere
that ants are attracted to breath, or was that
bed bugs? a kingdom is always a place of sacrifice. 
when i lived in the city i thought of myself
first & foremost as an ant. at five o'clock,
when everyone scurried away from their horses,
we were there with armfuls of who-knows-what. 
the sweet & the horrible. a collar hovering above
or was that a halo? it is hard to tell the difference.
i wait until the ants are done. until
there is nothing left. the final few twitch 
their antennae. i hold out my finger.
i explain, "you could do the same to me."
this is a way of having control over
one of my greatest fears. i have had nightmares
for the longest time of waking up
covered in ants. i am not so sure what i'm afraid
to let go of. the ants laugh at me. they say,
"this is your sugar, not ours." i want to follow them
so i do back to a mound near the knees
of a broken neck tree. there i kneel. 
i cannot trail them any further. 
i try breathing. clouds come out of my mouth. 
the ants go off to find new wounds.