Poetry: The Ant Soup

Last night Mummy made me eat
chicken clear soup,
except it wasn’t chicken clear or clear chicken
but filled with ants.

Mummy, it’s filled with ants
Eat it all up,she says
But Mummy they’re ants, ants !
She doesn’t believe me,
and so she forces me
and scolds me,
and frightens me,
to eat the ant soup
(She says I’m a horrid horrid daughter).

Not                          just                 a                     nightmare                              this.
I                                 can                feel                        them                                  crawling
on                       my                           tongue,
             running                  helter-skelter
on                           my                              Colgated teeth
then                             scampering                      about ,
in      my                  eesofaegus
and          playing           in           my In-testines.
They’re               all             inside                me,
itching                     to            get                  out
through my                                                                    Mummy-clipped fingernails,
and            my                 toes,
and                    my                         eyes .
All                                                           going         wriggle       wriggle       wriggle.

Daddy says I’m being naughty again.
Why doesn’t anybody believe me?
By God, they’re eating me eating me eating me.

We don’t believe you, they say.

Why should anybody believe me?
My mouth is full of ants.


(This was previously published in a print version of eFiction India)

Please let me know your thoughts!


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