Monday, May 02, 2005

itch

Millions of ants
march their way up my arm.
Beginning at my fingers,
they drag their
feet
as they walk
to their own
beat.
They are in no rush,
so they take
their time.
Their destination is unknown,
but I feel them.
Millions of ants with
billions of feet.
Slowly,
I feel their travel.
I wish they would STOP!
or go home to their mounds of dirt
in deep crevices.
I scratch my arm
trying to stop them
from marching.
I scratch my arm
and still
I ITCH!

2 comments:

Free Spirit said...

I can almost feel your frustration. I think people can relate with your work no matter what sort of situation they're in. Sometimes things just seem endless, but it's really not. I guess all we can do is be patient about it and do our best to cope with the situation.

Anonymous Poet said...

EEK!