No Greater Rapport to Report

We are waiting. We are waiting
For the unhappiness to boil.

Here and there, it already has.
Now and then, something new stokes it.

In this latest, windy heat wave,
The ever-active small ants in the grass

Have been seeming more aggressive.
Maybe it’s imagination,

Maybe it’s just summer weather.
Could one clone sister ever sense

Not only that the colony
Was doing well or under threat

But that the colony itself,
The only means by which she lives,

Might suddenly become a threat?
Each line explores the bone-dry ground.