I Was Reading Bewilderment by David Ferry When I Remembered What Helplessness Means

I saw it in my periphery: a large black ant
bobbing across the hilly brown carpet.
I did what any homeowner would do
and pulled a tissue from the box.
In one swift pinch I grabbed it.
It felt thick, thicker than any ant body.
In its grip: the smallest twig.
The ant squirmed hard between my fingers.
I read once that ants don’t have ears.
They hear through vibrations. I squeezed.
His wooden sword plunged bravely into my thumb.