this anthill of ours

sometimes the guilt pools in my hips

like the black-bodied stream of ants

my brother used to drown in the driveway.

the current of their wriggling limbs

piled up along asphalt cracks

as their screams dried in the sun

while Gavin smiled on, amused, that

with indifference, and a little hose water

there are a thousand things you can kill.