The Cerebral Catalyst

Passing by ridges
looking off the side of the mountain.
Ants surrounded my feet like
a walking loaf of bread,
red ones as well as black.

They seemed to be carrying things,
small pieces of tree
detached from limbs,
or making off with the limbs
of other insects.
One appeared to have the
decapitated head of a spider.
These insects meant business.

I felt my hair and swore
there was something crawling through,
my scalp itchy and tickled
buzzing crept by my ears.

When I did sit from fatigue
I imagined sitting there long enough
that these mites would eventually
make their way with me,
trotting me off into hidden crevices
between rocks, between leaves
that had fallen from the hard rain
that hit later that day.

Something bit the back of my neck,
trying for my life.
I knew I had to get off that mountain.

I slept off the flu
for the next few days following.
My uncle's dog passed months later from Lyme complications —

It was so long ago.

______________________________________
Joseph Veronneau has had poems appear or forthcoming in the following publications: Chiron Review, Lily, Lunatic Chameleon, Ken*Again, Zygote In My Coffee, Chantarelle's Notebook, Thieves Jargon, and many others. He also runs Scintillating Publications, a chapbook publishing press.

posted 05.14.07.

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