When did we learn that flying ants are not another species, just another sex?
I saw us twice today while the air was thick with wing beats:
once we were children, chlorine fresh from swimming
waiting on leisure centre steps, the other teenagers,
kissing loudly with wet mouths and worried hands.
On the day the ants fly I miss our possibilities most,
remember them crawling on our bare legs?
Somewhere new queens are making their nests and that reminds me,
I should have had you, terrified, while your mum folded sheets on the landing.