How swiftly my hand takes the wet sponge to expunge
the myriad ants that feed on the watery bits,
our last night’s dinner and theirs. How silently they go.

How swiftly and easily the great Hand can expunge us.
The great Hand, the great Mind, the great Soul.
We scurry still and feed off richness of the globe.

If we are no longer the fittest to maintain
the vast property we’ve been given–

If we, like the drunk renter,
are throwing things around–

breaking, wrecking all that was made so “fit”–
we are all drunk renters.

asking to be thrown out?