There should never be too many activists

There should never be many activists,
  
too much salt swamps the mouth, wasabi      
should only tickle, the sashimi
    
should almost only smell the soy sauce.    
     
We have watched that one ant going left
    
and right and lost, we have chalked it in,
    
drawn borders around its neighborhood,
    
played with where it can and cannot go,    
     
monster fingers shrink its universe
    
with moisture from the warm beer bottle,
    
the small thing sniffs at the restrictions,
    
it obeys till it does not obey.    
     
The beer drinker tires of the ant,
    
he tries to squish it with the bottom
    
of the bottle with a heavy drag    

across the pebble-tiled bar counter.    
     
The bottom of the bottle misses    

the ant, like government that misses
    
details, squinting into the darkness,
    
peering far into years but not into lives.    
     
 He cannot see the plight of the small
    
and hungry and he will not see that
    
he allowed the ant to live and breathe
    
to rear and to rally a great many.    
        
When there are too many activists,
    
they will be incessant in their prayers,
    
you will hear the hiss in the recesses
  
and you will taste the flavor of anger.