She made her appearance noiselessly
While the Aztecs bathed
The temple stairs in blood
And pencils scribbled furiously
Immense searching fingers
Lifted her off, carried her away
In fleshy folds and roaring laughter,
A child’s piercing voice
Cutting the air, shrill, displacing.
Misplaced now,
Her tiny black frame mangled.
Andy offered her around
He named her Annie
(because she was an orphan)
Unaware of her thousands of sisters,
Underground and above
Exploring the playground,
Resurfacing after a long winter
Harvesting the tender leaves of spring
Among the little black shapes
Moving randomly, hap-hazardly
There is always one
Who will venture in through the window.
“Andy, leaver her outside”
(and I know I said her)
So Andy flung her out the window.
How she landed
Or where, your guess is as good as mine.
All I know is
Every time some poor unsuspecting ant
Comes in through the window
Andy will make sure
She is left outside.
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