Michael H. Payne
All Work and No Play
Explode with action! Strive! Surmount! Achieve!
Antennae taut, I stomp myself about
To gather sweets and greases! All believe
Our service vital! None would dare to flout!
Antennae taut, I stomp myself about,
My mind a focused beam of purest light.
Our service vital, none would dare to flout
Biology’s instructions, always right.
My mind a focused beam of purest light,
A sudden sparkle draws my compound eye.
Biology’s instructions, always right,
Demand I turn away and not reply.
A sudden sparkle draws my compound eye:
A shiny something. No! My duties pinch,
Demand I turn away and not reply—
Although the vision doesn’t make me flinch…
A shiny something? No! My duties pinch.
I grip the crumb I’m holding, step around.
Although the vision doesn’t make me flinch,
The strange emotions skew me, nearly drowned.
I grip the crumb I’m holding, step around
Methodically, my thoughts a crunchy mess.
The strange emotions skew me, nearly drowned.
Investigate? That never causes stress.
Methodically, my thoughts a crunchy mess,
I flick antennae, let them smell the thing.
Investigate? That never causes stress.
An ant is always probing, set to sting.
I flick antennae, let them smell the thing.
It isn’t living: quartz, I’d estimate.
An ant is always probing, set to sting,
But here’s a rock, inedible as slate.
It isn’t living—quartz, I’d estimate—
So why the fascination? Sugar, sure,
But here’s a rock, inedible as slate.
Except it beckons, glows with odd allure…
So why the fascination? Sugar, sure,
But crystal lacking spice? A stone that’s dead?
Except it beckons, glows with odd allure.
I drop my crumb to gather this instead.
But crystal lacking spice? A stone that’s dead?
Peculiar notions, words without a match.
I drop my crumb to gather this instead,
Its heft a perfect balance. Toss and catch?
Peculiar notions, words without a match.
I scratch my chitin, gaze upon this rock,
Its heft a perfect balance… Toss and catch?
I flex my neck, my mind awash with shock.
I scratch my chitin, gaze upon this rock,
Absorbed in thought. Perhaps a moment’s pause?
I flex my neck, my mind awash with shock.
An ant on break? It violates the laws!
Absorbed in thought—perhaps a moment’s pause? —
I hear a grunt behind me, turn to look—
“An ant on break? It violates the laws!”
Another ant exclaims. “They’ll throw the book!”
I hear a grunt behind me, turn to look
Despite myself and certain who’ll be there.
Another ant exclaims, “They’ll throw the book!
Recuse yourself! You haven’t got a prayer!”
Despite myself and certain who’ll be there,
I sigh…until a second thought occurs.
“Recuse yourself! You haven’t got a prayer!”
I hear her squeak. I give a toss. “It’s yours.”
I sigh…until a second thought occurs.
Include the bunch! We’ll all appear as fools!
I hear her squeak. I give a toss. “It’s yours.
You’ve got to throw it back or break the rules.”
Include the bunch! We’ll all appear as fools!
She drops her crumb and takes the pebble in.
“You’ve got to throw it back or break the rules.”
I tell her. Make believe it’s not a sin.
She drops her crumb and takes the pebble in,
Confusion humming up and down the line.
I tell her, “Make believe it’s not a sin.
Just try it out. You’ll find it quite benign.”
Confusion humming up and down the line,
She flicks the pebble. “That’s the stuff!” I say.
“Just try it out. You’ll find it quite benign.”
Uneasy scents arise along the way.
She flicks the pebble. “That’s the stuff!” I say.
I grab it, aim it farther, tarsi flexed.
Uneasy scents arise along the way.
“Prepare!” I call. “You each are catching next!”
I grab it, aim it farther, tarsi flexed.
Including others seems the proper course.
“Prepare!” I call. “You each are catching next!”
They gather close without the use of force.
Including others seems the proper course;
Before I know it, teams’re keeping score.
They gather close without the use of force,
A thing that’s never happened: fun galore!
Before I know it, teams’re keeping score.
A crowd surrounds us; someone shouts, “The queen!”
A thing that’s never happened. “Fun galore!”
Her Majesty declares. It’s unforeseen!
A crowd surrounds us. Someone shouts, “The queen!
She’s blessed our undertaking!” “Carry on!
Her Majesty declares. “It’s unforeseen,
But toss that pebble here!” We play till dawn.
She’s blessed our undertaking! Carry on
Indeed with all involved who raise the cry,
“But toss that pebble here!” We play till dawn,
A victory the queen can certify.
Indeed, with all involved who raise the cry,
“A week from now, we’ll give another go!”
A victory the queen can certify
Becomes the goal to seek with lives aglow.
A week from now, we’ll give another go,
But now, refreshed, to grab that little crumb
Becomes the goal to seek with lives aglow,
Awake in ways that make antennae thrum.
But now, refreshed, to grab that little crumb,
To gather sweets and greases! All believe,
Awake in ways that make antennae thrum,
Explode with action! Strive! Surmount! Achieve!
_______________
Michael H. Payne’s poems have appeared in Silver Blade, Star*Line, various Rhysling Award anthologies, and his chapbook Two Strikes and I’m Out from Island of Wak Wak. His short stories have shown up in places ranging from Asimov’s to Zooscape, and his novels have been published by Tor Books, Sofawolf Press, and upcoming from Fenris Publications.
Author’s Notes/Backstory: Back on May 1st, 2025, I saw that an Australian magazine called The Suburban Review was paying a great deal of money for poetry submissions with the theme of “Games.” This got me thinking, as so many things do, about ants. Who, after all, are less likely to play games than ants, the stereotypical strivers and toilers? But if an ant got sidetracked somehow and accidentally invented the game of catch, how, I wondered, would the other ants react?
The Suburban Review’s deadline was May 4th, so over that weekend, I put together this poem. It had to be a pantoum, of course: the whole “two steps forward and one step back” shape reminds me very much of ants zigzagging about before they find something tasty, and I thought ants would appreciate the economy of the form since each line gets recycled. I’m addicted to rhyme and rhythm when writing poems, and, well, you can never go wrong with iambic pentameter, right?
So I sent the poem to The Suburban Review, and they rejected it. Their rejection came too late, however, for me to submit the poem to Abyss & Apex that May, so over the summer, I sent it out to several other magazines. They all rejected it, too. But as soon as Apex & Abyss opened for poetry submissions in November, I sent it in. And here we all are!
Editor’s Comments: A narrative (and rhyming) Pantoum—an impressive feat! The image credit: Daniel Olah on Unsplash)