Considering California's Drought And Her House-bound Ants

My cabinets hold
an open view --- clear pine
attracting a caravan
of ants. Nothing sweet
lingers there and still they come.

I have sprayed the surface
with orange oil, festooned
the corners with mint and bay leaves
but still they come, servants to the queen
and thieves crawling around this tall city
of cans and bottles.

Someone told me to sprinkle salt
along their trail. I'm thinking
about the power of that ancient spice.
Maybe, it will dissolve this army
and turn its harlot empress
into a pillar of thirst,

lead her wingless
into the land of Lot's wife
where she slowly dies
at the feet of a woman

whose shape is crystallized rock,
(no desert pietà) and the wind's tongue
sharp, cutting through any dreams
of green shade or rain..