I
Rain falls.
Fat transparent pearls
dent dusty earth.
Rusty roofs of market stalls
shelter drenched stragglers
caught off guard.
A flurrying brown mass
of ant flies
hijack the night.
Hypnotized
by glaring street lights
they swarm to the glow.
Wings sizzle.
They drop like fallen angels
to the ground.
II
In the first morning light
brown fingers scrape damp earth
rake wingless ants into buckets.
Laughter, loud chatter ring the African village.
Blackened stone hearths are cleared of yesterday’s ashes.
Dry twigs thrown in, set alight.
Cardboard fans powered by hands
birth large fires.
Wooden spoons stir sooty iron pans.
Ants roast and pop into
a salted, peppered crunchy feast
from heaven.
Althea Romeo-Mark
© 2007
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