Ants have razed the paradise of the pear,
_     _regiments summoned by a mighty singing
_     __     _through cracks you can’t see in the floorboards.
The time was ripe for their enthusiasm,
_     _their sense of business and industry,
_     __     _the waving of their antennae like flags,
_     __     __     _their trails across the plane of Formica.

The corpse will soon cave beneath its own weight.
_     _Its yellow hips have started to pucker,
_     __     _mottled by a few improvised brushstrokes
where the delicate skin has sugared through.
_     _What a shame there’s no color to convey
_     __     _the exquisite perfume of this sagging.
_     __     __     _It’s really too soggy to handle, but if

you hoist it from the saucer anyway,
_     _the pear hangs on, like magnet to metal,
_     __     _suctioned for a moment by what it drained
in the long hurry to decimate itself:
_     _this amber-colored crescent of syrup
_     __     _enriched by the carcass of one lost ant,
_     __     __     _last cognac of vanilla, blood and myrrh.