Bonta's piece opens with a dry, teasing prose paragraph. It addresses "you" and describes a familiar kind of cultural impatience: you're only waiting for a new trend so you can finally admit you're sick of the old one. Then the thought turns anxious. If the economy is bad, maybe there won't be a next thing at all, and the last thing could become something you miss with sentimental, almost absurd devotion. The tone is wry, a little sour, and it pokes fun at how fickle our tastes are.
The short haiku-like verse that follows changes the mood completely. Two people share tea, and an ant carries a crumb above her head. The ant doesn't wait for anything to be popular. She just holds what she has and keeps going. Set beside the restless, self-absorbed prose, the image feels calm, small and quietly funny. The poem seems to suggest that attention to a simple, present moment is a relief from all that trend-watching.