Vinegar By Degrees

my dad is at war


each night he marks

his territory in vinegar


each morning he curses

at the ant battalions

marching in disarray


across the plains of kitchen bench

finding crumbs in unlikely places


drowning in squealing discontent

in tiny drops of water left behind

from midnight thirst sessions


sometimes adaptation occurs in a blink

of darwin’s vinegar-tinted eye



Copyright February 2018