Farm

Ants farm aphids,

If you did not know.

They herd and work aphids

As we do cattle,

An old man once told me

Over a cafeteria lunch.

Nodding, I tried to move away

Politely, or so I thought.

’Get away from me,

You old man,’ said I,

Though only to myself.

‘You old lousy, creepy farmer.’

I spoke none of this, still,

He wore an expression

Like a simple child,

A sad hound dog pup,

And I knew he could feel

My seething hatred of him.

’Bee Kind,’ said his hat.

How am I such a cruel young woman?

Men I fear, but bugs and beasts—

They are much scarier than

Poor Old Joe