An Ant Named Colin

I spot an ant upon my patio.
Scrambling over stones: two, three, four more.
Like raisins taking a hike, across monstrous mountains.

Consistent.
Persistent.
No sounds of complaint.

All the same to us.
Nameless. Faceless.
But they'd die for each other.
Yet I've never seen a dead ant.
Other than at the hands of a human.

We're an atom bomb to an ant.
Uncontrolled power.
Detached.
Unaccountable.

I spot an ant upon my patio, five, six, eight more.
Sleep tight, eat well, go and make some more.