Them

They were not born nuclear mutants,
Ants the size of houses, creaking, shrieking,
Causing Americans to flee, pants
Damp, soiled, on fire. I wasn’t seeking

Them: that insect, sinister pronoun,
A word with huge antennas hung from wires
Loping around a large Hollywood sound-
Stage in the 1950s. My desires

Were different. I was different. They
Would not exist as insects—large or small.
But there they were, these larval lumps of clay,
Darting between their parents at the Mall.

They seem okay as kids. But let us see
If they mature into a Them. Or we.