Today's poem is by Sue Owen

Termite Trouble

Their raw hunger goes way
back in time to that
very first chomp of wood,
and they, of course, liked

it best, damp or rotted.
It never mattered to
those pesky termites that,
with each new bite,

they were following the
proverbial path of destruction.
It never mattered to the
king and queen in charge,

or their colony of workers,
that they always chose
to munch on those beams
and that any building would

collapse and crumble
into pure clouds of sawdust.
And their smallness itself
never seemed to matter, to

those termites, or to anyone,
since they looked like ants.
But inside their small
brains, packed and complex,

fate had built a structure
that we could hate, a
terrible plan, that permanence
in the power of their will.

Copyright © 2004 Sue Owen All rights reserved
from New Delta Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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