PCC (January 9,1936 / Bronx, New York)


The teeny weensy tiny ones are right here -
But who sees 'em -
There at my gigantic feet
Scurrying along busy at ant work often alone
And absolutely filled with singular purpose
At some job that will get done no matter what the obstacles.
They are the willed creatures -
Brave & determined dynamos -
No job is too big once chosen by their wild intentionality.
And when they become determined to take on some important task together,
They are able to move a mountain
Here to here.
Lickety-split just like that!
Be it night or day
It gets done before you or I even know it has been taking place.
They do it in perfect fashion,
All following an agreed upon strategy -
A plan blue-printed by some angel upon each mind/heart/soul -
They each know just what to do
So they need no bossy foreman shouting orders at them.
No, they know as if they were one ant
Just what they all are to do
To get this their work done well
I look down on them from on high
With true humble respect.
I have to squint to see.
Florida ants are so minuscule
They are easy to miss and step upon.
Oh no!
I must be careful!
Such a massive gargantuan hulk of bones muscles and flesh am I
Stomping along with such huge feet
Usually oblivious of where I am putting them down.
Holey Smoley!
What a monster I must seem to be to them!
What fear would fill me
If some such giant of a goon
Suddenly came pounding like Godzilla
Into the happy-go-lucky mundane ordinary life
Of my here and now
Crushing wrecking destroying everything smasherooney!
Thank God I am made in his image and care about the tiny ones.
The tiny ants need not fear me -
I have my eye on 'em.

by Paul Clement Czaja

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