My son is scared of ants,
and he hates them with a fury.
He found one crawling by the door
and ran over in a hurry.
He begged me, “Daddy squish it!”
But I frowned and asked him why.
He said the bug was gross and such
but I said it shouldn’t die.
I took a broom and swept the room,
the bug aboard the pan.
Out in the sun I tapped the dust
and the bug practically ran.
Later on my son was gone
I came by to check his fun.
He was down beside the door
by an ant in the midday sun.
I asked him, “What is it?”
He looked at me from the room,
“don’t kill the bug.”
And he left to grab the broom.
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Frank Ormond 