Theo LeGro

I can’t figure out where the ants
are coming from. All day oily

tributaries shiver down the walls
while I smoke pot and blot them out

with my thumb between trips to the bathroom
to vomit bile from chemo, which, like death,

is such a goddamn cliché. Hair drifts
from my skull to pile on the tile, brittle

and sallow as rotten wheat. I’m dying
slower, which means it’s working,

which means I can keep getting older
like I deserve it. Light shreds

through the shades while I crush
every single ant I see. Life is nothing

but a thievery of hours and I can’t even
be grateful I haven’t gotten caught. I kill

what I can, crust my fingers with skeletons
weaker than mine. We’re the same –

the cancer, the ants, me. Everybody
is just trying to eat.

Theo LeGro is a queer Vietnamese-American poet who has received a Pushcart Prize nomination and fellowships from Kundiman. Their work appears or will appear in diode, Frontier, Raleigh Review, SARKA, Vagabond City Lit, and other journals. They live in Brooklyn with a cat named Vinny. Find them on Instagram at @theolegro.

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