A small black ant
clever in his thoughts
and quite kingly
(to say the least),
is crawling up my leg.

He’s been dancing on my toes
and bored with his repertoire
(the only dance he knows is the Macarena)
is determined to tease the pale
paths of my freckled skin.

So he begins crawling,
sending phantom tickling spirals up my leg.
His mischief begs for the brush of my hand
to send him tumbling under the desk or across the room
to lace himself around someone else’s legs.
(perhaps other feet will be more captivating)

But I don’t move. Afraid
that the slightest breath of movement
will stall you mid-sentence
and my slight grasp on the meaning
of your crisply soft eyes
will slip from my eager hands.

08/10/2004