A MATTER OF SMALL MOMENT (There Having Been No Announcement)

There having been no announcement,
The work was far advanced 
When I happened on the scene:
 
Some insect shell was underway—
Head, thorax, abdomen, and wings
Silently gliding, sustained by teams
Of ants intently stroking it along.
It almost seemed
The funeral caisson of a king
In mute procession to the tomb,
Or a Venetian war trireme
Measuring the sea.
 
Despite the ants’ tenacity
And the roughness of the ground,
From time to time sharp gusts of wind
Carried away the outer hangers-on
Of an excited throng
Like those that always swarm around 
The edges of great undertakings. 
Feeling the wind beset them, 
They must have just reared up, let go,
And let themselves be swept away.

Those that remained
Did not miss them. Steady and slow,
The small cortege moved on.
 
But I could not dismiss them so.
They made me think
Of all the launchings I have seen:
Ships, missions to the moon, balloons. . . .
 
Outfitted in yellow, red, and blue,
Brass bands blare martial music
While dancers prance in Mardi-Gras costumes;
Flags flap and crackle in the wind,
And ribbons stretch, and streamers stream;
The vendors of souvenirs, soft drinks, and ice cream
Pop up everywhere;
Phileas Fogg and the Wizard of Oz 
Usurp the atmosphere.
 
And then the tiny gondola swings
Beneath a silken dome that swells and nods
Like some old Narnian Monopod
Just come to life and visibility; 

Ropes creak and strain.
The crowd falls still.
The frail ship and its cargo sway
Upward, and slowly shrink away.
 
And we turn back to work again,
For all our momentary transport,
Earthbound—yet not quite the same.
 
Balloons, Oz, Phileas Fogg,
And Monopods!
And gondolas and triremes—
 
Incongruities fit for the Renaissance,
That delighted in such things:
For the well-designing ministers and kings
Who took advantage of
The occasions and displays of state
To awe the bumptious populace,
That always managed anyway
To turn authoritarian shows
Into subversive play.
 
Perhaps of all the things we boast 
To set us off from other creatures,
This is the most peculiarly human way
Of behaving. It is our nature
To turn a strictly purposed thing
Back on itself and make it say
Something entirely different, and mean more
Than we had thought before—
To make stern shows of iron and fire
Into objects of desire
That captivate and tease us on.
 
It may be this, as much as calculation,
That will save us from the fate
Of the socially more advanced—
From the relentless and complete
Totalitarian organization
Of the six- and the four- and the two-legged ants.

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