There is an ant infestation at the laundromat. The little legged beauty marks are marching toward a large hole in the wall. I start a load of whites then get in line with the ants. Upon arriving at the hole, I gaze inside where I see a newborn baby covered in stickiness. The ants work hard at cleaning the infant, dropping crumbs and water droplets into its mouth. The child looks well-cared for, but I have no children of my own, so I don’t know the full extent of rearing a tiny person. A pregnant terminator arrives, “The baby has done its job. Everyone must evacuate.” I go next door and buy a pink frosted donut and a bottle of chocolate milk. I watch as they freeze the ants into immobility with ice guns and throw them into large ant farms hoisted onto 18 wheelers. I read a tabloid about the protein packed insect food of the future until the washer chirps from across the parking lot. The crime scene tape is still whipping in the wind like sweet strands of honey. The ants look dead behind the glass. I am sure they are just dreaming.

Amanda Chiado is the author of Vitiligod (Dancing Girl Press). Her work has most recently appeared in Rhino, The Pinch Journal, and The Offing. Her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart & Best of the Net. She is the Director of Arts Education at the San Benito County Arts Council, is a California Poet in the Schools, and edits for Jersey Devil Press. www.amandachiado.com