Ant On A Park Bench

One lone ant marches across the sun-warmed bench

A black comma, writing itself forward

It searches, scans, scouts for food

It finds a breadcrumb -

A lifeline

tossed by a hand

meant for the pigeon,

wing over beak, resting.

Uncaring

It runs -

legs clawing

lunging closer

Greedily, it heaves the grain

hunger driving it forward

It trips -

stumbles

rights itself,

dragging the world on its back,

unseen in ours.