Thinking Small

Hey, I have an idea!  Tonight, why don't we wander over to The Java Junction (formerly known as the Muffin Hut back before everyone decided they needed to go all low-carb)?  I hear that it's Amateur Poetry Night and we all know how much fun that can be, right?  

We all dutifully troop down the block (some of us more willingly than others since not everyone has such highbrow tastes, but no one wants to look like a poor sport).  We enter the Java Junction (formerly known as The Muffin Hut back before that guy accidentally ate the paper stuff that the muffins come in and there was that nasty lawsuit)  The last poet of the evening is being introduced.  

All right, you hep cats, let's snap it out for our newest local poet!  Tonight, we are privileged to hear the wordly wanderings of Little Sheepish Annie, who is joining us for the very first time.  Make her feel real welcome, now.  She's just a little nervous, what with this being her debut and all.  She's also kinda miffed about not being allowed to bring along that bongo player she'd invited to accompany her, but we told her that this sort of thing had been done to death.  Here she is, folks...Little Sheepish Annie!

Little Sheepish Annie tentatively climbs onto the makeshift stage area.  She is wearing a lovely frock which sports lace at the cuffs and a Peter Pan collar and which was clearly selected by her mother for the occasion.  For reasons that probably made sense at the time, her mother also saw fit to braid her hair tightly to complete the look and her eyes are being forcibly pulled just slightly off kilter.  Her shoes are scuffed and one is untied.  LSA clears her throat nervously, smooths out the crumpled notebook pages which have been clenched in her trembling hands and takes a deep, shaky breath:

Um...this is my poem.  If I Were An Ant.  By me.  Little Sheepish Annie...ahem!

If I were an ant

I'd probably spend more time in the kitchen instead of in the living room.

If I were an ant

I'd be smart enough to know that this is where the food is.

If I were an ant

I'd be in the kitchen probably wondering why the big person who lives here doesn't just give up and dump out that bowl of Very Expensive Organic Cat Food That The Big, Fluffy Kitty Won't Eat Because All She Wants Is Greenies Treats.

If I were an ant

I'd also be wondering why the big person who lives here hasn't noticed that we won't eat it either.

If I were an ant

and I were stupid enough to spend all day in the living room, I'd probably know better than to wander around by those big, gigantic, sandal-clad feet.

If I were an ant

I wouldn't find the left foot appealing enough to walk on.

If I were an ant

and so inclined as to walk on big, gigantic left feet, I'd probably take a minute to see the fifty million of my brethren lying dead around that particular foot.

If I were an ant

I'd never, ever walk across the computer screen while a movie is playing.  I'd know that this will only serve to call attention to me.  And that it is rude.

If I were an ant

I'd know better than to walk across computer screens and feet while someone is trying to knit a scarf.  Even if fifty million others did it.  

If I were an ant

I'd have more appreciation for knitting.  And I wouldn't give in to peer pressure.

If I were an ant

I'd probably not have that "no man left behind" mentality.  I'd leave all my stupid dead cousins and great uncles scattered across the carpet and get the heck away from there.

If I were an ant

I'd probably be elected Prime Minister Of The Ants because I am so smart and know better than to do stupid things like leave the kitchen or walk across big left feet.

If I were an ant

I'd be better at it than the rest of the ants.  Because I see the problems that most ants don't.

The End

LSA takes a quick bow and, after pausing to wave frantically to her mother who is manning the video camera from the back of the Java Junction (formerly known as The Muffin Hut back  before the ants showed up and one or twenty of them got accidentally baked into a batch of the Death By Chocolate muffins).  She stumbles from the stage, blushing furiously at the spattering of applause and snapping of fingers she receives for her poetic efforts.

That's it for tonight, folks!  We here at The Java Junction (formerly known as The Muffin Hut back before the manager failed to recognize the Health Inspector at the door and accidentally blew his nose on one of the pot holders) hope you enjoyed our night of poetry.  Tomorrow night, we'll hold our weekly knitting circle where anyone and everyone who wants to settle in with a nice cuppa joe and a pair of needles can come hang out with like-minded peers.  Just remember that you'll have to bring your own snacks, 'kay?  We here at the Java Junction (formerly known as the Muffin Hut back before any number of unlucky and ill-timed things happened) no longer have a license to serve food.

Thanks and drive safe, everyone!

SA  (who is currently engrossed in the composition of her next epic poem, "Where The Heck Did All These Stupid Ants Come From???")