Commie Ants, Monster Ants, Ants Back for a final, late fall on the old side porch of my childhood home. The gait of the ant on the porch floor recalls your 1960’s High School Social Studies teacher, Mr. Wilson, in a homicidal slapstick .22 skidoo around the backyard after his screaming wife, then fleeing from her knife-brandishing counterattack, then back again. Now the ant stops. Goes. Its progress neither scurry nor march nor meander, but a compound of halt and drive, improvisation and plan, straight ahead and double back. Me and art. Me and life and love. Or maybe like Mr. Wilson's distillation of Marxism in class as “two steps forward, one step back." Or his halting long dialectic of paranoia and shyness climaxing in his own Bolshevik murder spree. Years later, on the third season of this three-season porch afternoon the floorboards, made of a hay-colored material neither wood nor plastic, (“composite”), stretch beyond in all directions. It must look Sonoran bleak, arctic blank for the ant traversing it. But that’s your imagining, something out of
Monster Ants, Commie Ants, Ants
Monster Ants, Commie Ants, Ants
Monster Ants, Commie Ants, Ants
Commie Ants, Monster Ants, Ants Back for a final, late fall on the old side porch of my childhood home. The gait of the ant on the porch floor recalls your 1960’s High School Social Studies teacher, Mr. Wilson, in a homicidal slapstick .22 skidoo around the backyard after his screaming wife, then fleeing from her knife-brandishing counterattack, then back again. Now the ant stops. Goes. Its progress neither scurry nor march nor meander, but a compound of halt and drive, improvisation and plan, straight ahead and double back. Me and art. Me and life and love. Or maybe like Mr. Wilson's distillation of Marxism in class as “two steps forward, one step back." Or his halting long dialectic of paranoia and shyness climaxing in his own Bolshevik murder spree. Years later, on the third season of this three-season porch afternoon the floorboards, made of a hay-colored material neither wood nor plastic, (“composite”), stretch beyond in all directions. It must look Sonoran bleak, arctic blank for the ant traversing it. But that’s your imagining, something out of