Parasol Ants - Richard Shindell

The thief is down

Flat on the ground

Face on cement

A crowd gathers round

His old black coat

Thrown over his head

The crowd’s all hushed

Cause it looks like he’s dead

He’s got a limited view

Just one patch of light

Shining down

On a curious sight

Parasol ants

In a perfect line

With bright green leaves

Raised up high

And he is God and those leaves are sails

He is God and his breath is the gale

He is God with time to kill

He is God and he can do just what he will

But God is bored

So it’s, what the hell

He let’s go a gust

Just to watch them flail

The ants go flying

In disarray

Those bright green leaves

All blown away

But God’s got problems

He’s busted, but good

He ain’t nothin'

Just a well-known local hood

The ants keep coming

They pay him no mind

They’ve got leaves to move

They just march on by