I’ve been that little boy
with a magnifying glass
looming over an anthill
on a sunny afternoon.
It was interesting, even comical,
the way the ants ran from my heat ray
and the ones who couldn’t find cover
curled as they were incinerated.
Notice my use of the passive voice.
I’m ashamed of those insect deaths
but will cut myself some slack and hope
“boys will be boys” is adequate.
But it’s not when little men are boiling
our planet and profiting from the spectacle.
(For today’s prompt, write an animal poem.)
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