No picnic can be called complete
without a little army
that strides in march-step
when the burgers
and fried chicken
are set out for munching.
Mom screams when she
sees little critters strutting
straight towards us.
But I’m ok, hip-hip-hooray,
there’s much less food
to put away when
ants come join our picnic.
published in Medusa's Kitchen
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