Ant-Hills Poem by Karl Carpenter

Ant-hills clutter the middle of the yard,
each reaching to a towering two inches,
congregating in a puddle of sand
staining an otherwise green field.

They make a miniature city together,
in which moving, black lanes of specks
wind about like the wiring on the TV inside,
and bees float about like flying cars.

As threatening as baby volcanoes-
all bright brown in the midday sun,
with soft slopes and poked holes at the top,
erupting black lava made up of black particles.

And so simple for a child of five such as I
to crush any and many a queen's castle.