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- poetry by Dick Bentley
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|God, the Flag, and Mom's Martinis
How she always mixed 'em
dry, stir don't bruise the
gin don't shake and when
the big stroke came to
take her away for heaven's sake
she cried let me go out on
a horse, on a great gray
horse, let me gallop
|A solitary ant, when closely seen,
Is quite unlike a thinking, sentient being.
Observed in nettly field or tangly lawn,
It looks more like a goofy ganglion
Of nervous neurons legging o'er the lea
With deaf, dumb, blind yet restless energy.
But should this ant encounter on its way
Soon hundreds more arrive from near and far.
The mass becomes a planner, calculator.
An ant's not intellectually reflective.
If so, is ant or moth the saint or sinner?
Perhaps we've stretched the metaphor too far,
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