I'll consent to see you now.

The automated sprinkler system,
Stretched across the field below,
Is stopped, the corn beneath it
Only barely sprouted.  That's okay.
It's June.  Last night, we got some
Rain.  

An ant, in trademarked frenzy,
Presses forward, then it doubles back
Along the blazing railing of the deck.  
It looks like me.  There's always
Something more to do.  Whatever's done
Is not enough, and one expires, in due
Time, a failure.  Everybody fails.

I watch the ant half-heartedly.
The sprinkler's fixed. It doesn't move.
A life, at this point, mostly wasted,
Ebbs away upon this deck.  I've
Ceased to care.  I'm not an insect.

Have a seat.  A wastrel's willing
To receive you now.