Ant-rafting Down the Amazon
Posted: Sat Feb 22, 2014 5:38 pm
I recently stumbled across some information to the effect that, counter-intuitively, ants actually put their babies, the pupae, on the bottom of their rafts (when they are forced to raft up to escape floods, as they sometimes are) rather than the top. The reason for this is that they are more buoyant, so they act a bit like floaties.
I thought it would be an interesting challenge to write a poem about ant rafts. I'm afraid this was the best I could do. I might have better luck next time.
Ant-rafting Down the Amazon
I’ve flown around the curve of Earth inside a jumbo jet.
I’ve cruised across the ocean in a very smart corvette.
I’ve sailed upon a clipper past an overhanging cliff.
I’ve charged through troughs and valleys in a flashy racing skiff.
I’ve reefed a bucking fishing boat upon a storm-tossed lake.
I’ve kayaked through white water, and I’ve felt my spirit quake.
I’ve nearly drowned in gumboots as I’ve waded through a swamp,
And I’ve splashed through happy puddles in a merry childish romp.
I’ve tried all types of rafting, be it rubber mats or logs.
(I like to drift at midday with the dragonflies and frogs.)
I’ve ridden drums and barrels, even bottles, firmly tied,
But there is one type of raft that I confess I’ve never tried.
I’ve never done the Amazon upon a raft of ants.
You might call me wussy, but I’ve never had the chants.
I live beside the Yarra. I observe it by and by,
But I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a raft of ants go by.
My local travel agent’s thrown me brochures by the score.
I’ve laid them out most careful on the carpet on her floor.
It’s not a trip that you can book, at least that’s how it seems,
But I simply can’t escape the mighty ant rafts in my dreams.
I know I’ll get there one day, but I must confess, right now,
It’s all a wretched puzzle, so I really don’t know how.
Perhaps a swarm of locusts with a thread around each neck
Will salvage my ambition from its current soggy wreck.
I’ll nuzzle up beside the queen (I mean, if there is space)
In the middle of the raft, which is, of course, the safest space.
We’ll drift past big black caiman, giant otter, anaconda
(The more I ponder on my dream, the more it’s growing fonder);
We’ll float past vicious bull sharks, vampire fish, perhaps piranha,
And now and then I’ll reach up high for bunches of banana,
But the very best of all this, the pointy bit, the nub…
I’ll get to brag about it every Friday at the pub!
See, the chicks all love their sports stars, all the footy, all the cricket,
But hanging out with little bugs and insects, that’s the ticket!
The girls will whisper softly, in a sexy voice, and low,
“A swarm of locusts took him to an ant raft, did you know?”
© Stephen Whiteside 22.02.2014
I thought it would be an interesting challenge to write a poem about ant rafts. I'm afraid this was the best I could do. I might have better luck next time.
Ant-rafting Down the Amazon
I’ve flown around the curve of Earth inside a jumbo jet.
I’ve cruised across the ocean in a very smart corvette.
I’ve sailed upon a clipper past an overhanging cliff.
I’ve charged through troughs and valleys in a flashy racing skiff.
I’ve reefed a bucking fishing boat upon a storm-tossed lake.
I’ve kayaked through white water, and I’ve felt my spirit quake.
I’ve nearly drowned in gumboots as I’ve waded through a swamp,
And I’ve splashed through happy puddles in a merry childish romp.
I’ve tried all types of rafting, be it rubber mats or logs.
(I like to drift at midday with the dragonflies and frogs.)
I’ve ridden drums and barrels, even bottles, firmly tied,
But there is one type of raft that I confess I’ve never tried.
I’ve never done the Amazon upon a raft of ants.
You might call me wussy, but I’ve never had the chants.
I live beside the Yarra. I observe it by and by,
But I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a raft of ants go by.
My local travel agent’s thrown me brochures by the score.
I’ve laid them out most careful on the carpet on her floor.
It’s not a trip that you can book, at least that’s how it seems,
But I simply can’t escape the mighty ant rafts in my dreams.
I know I’ll get there one day, but I must confess, right now,
It’s all a wretched puzzle, so I really don’t know how.
Perhaps a swarm of locusts with a thread around each neck
Will salvage my ambition from its current soggy wreck.
I’ll nuzzle up beside the queen (I mean, if there is space)
In the middle of the raft, which is, of course, the safest space.
We’ll drift past big black caiman, giant otter, anaconda
(The more I ponder on my dream, the more it’s growing fonder);
We’ll float past vicious bull sharks, vampire fish, perhaps piranha,
And now and then I’ll reach up high for bunches of banana,
But the very best of all this, the pointy bit, the nub…
I’ll get to brag about it every Friday at the pub!
See, the chicks all love their sports stars, all the footy, all the cricket,
But hanging out with little bugs and insects, that’s the ticket!
The girls will whisper softly, in a sexy voice, and low,
“A swarm of locusts took him to an ant raft, did you know?”
© Stephen Whiteside 22.02.2014