“...the ants are deceived into thinking that the parasitic larva of the large blue is one of their own and carry it to their nest. It's at this point that the caterpillar turns from herbivore to carnivore, feeding on ant grubs throughout the autumn and spring until it is ready to pupate and emerge the following summer...”

There’s always a hoo-ha,
every year. Pickets,
protests, anti-Blues
lining the walls of the nest,

The same old antenna-wringing
about the sanctity of grubs -
as if they’re a finite resource -
philistines, in short.

Security has to be tight.
There’s many opposed to our art,
as I have come to think of it,
this living exhibition we curate.

A caterpillar’s appetite is massive,
compulsive, and I’ll admit it’s not pretty,
the grubs twitching half-empty,
their innards leaking out,

Born for a greater purpose
than to live – but who recalls
the lost ants of yesteryear,
let alone the Old Masters?

I might flatter myself,
but it takes a long time to fatten them
and we in the Containment Team
play a significant part,

Keeping the complainers out.
It’s worth whatever they say;
murderer, evil. The Blues still grow
like an all-consuming idea.

I’m not asking you to understand.
I know you couldn’t.
But if you’d like to try, picture
a brush of black-trimmed astral

Blue dipping over the summer grass,
a living artwork depicting itself,
like a fearless, à la mode painting
that cost its artist everything.