This girl has a sack of giant flying ants. That is one of them crawling on her left knee.
A horde of us have been out hunting ants, in Llano Park and throughout the city, since sunrise.
A woman fills her red jacket’s pockets; a man uses his moto helmet as a basket. A valet and a waiter scramble to fill grocery sacks with ants. The shoe shiner loans bags to customers. A man pushes ants, wings and all, into a Coke bottle as his wife zips them in her purse.
Some trappers bring crumbs for the birds (as distraction for the competition); some gatherers team up, use their children.
Some gratefully praise the fortune falling from the heavens, and some think I don’t know that chicatanas (giant flying ants) arrive with hurricane season, that I cannot know two full days of rain signal the joyous beginning of hunters harvesting ingredients.
I have sampled this salsa. I have dabbled in the seasonal delicacies here. I know what flavors the weather brings.
- Most of the poems featuring ants make them metaphor for how infinitesimally small we are in the cosmos: https://hellopoetry.com/words/ants/. A bit more creative, some poets make them industrious little builders. Of course, there are also the picnic destroyers. I like to think of these insects as the Oaxacans do, as a special food delivered by the rains, as sustenance, as sport. How can you freshen a metaphor by drawing from a different culture’s views?