Pests

poem

Imagine invasion as repeated thumbing of mouth

by an unknown select committee

Imagine they were ants,

that's what it felt like,

a phantom notion

and they were only at my feet

One had gone rogue against my ear

with the instructions to play dead

that is my child now,

retreating back to the colony

in realisation of my human

The receptionist said I was too tall to have a guardian with me

but I should return to flossing in the hopes that

my spit will become clear in the next six weeks