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.