ANOTHER COINCIDENCE

it was thirty-five degrees
on the balcony, in the Armenian city
and this was Saturday
in the early evening

the Canadian man was trimming
his beard
and watching an ant manage its way
around the mosquito net

it’s the explorer ant
that looks like it’s lost

going up and down
and left and right
and forth and back
checking this and that

it’ll get killed for some silly idea
or a poem
while the other ants walk in line
protected by the big officer ants

“you rarely call yourself the
Canadian man,”
thought he,
feeling his now shortened beard

a minute later (I swear this is true)
he got a phonecall from
a lady he barely knew—she wanted
to ask something about Canada

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Swi by reading_is_dangerous] These days the poems are bad, but I decided that I should keep on writing, anyway.