Poetry from the Creek: White Anted

I remember it’s description white anted whatever

used to stand for stability; appears its an unseen

and silent enemy busy gnawing framework within

silent that is until door crashes to floor, lintel and

seemingly still intact jambs paper thin & patently

unable to support an inferred frame’s status quo

what on earth made it so unstable are words we

bandy with - & why didn’t we have an actual clue

first place that was what was really happening

which is answered in the way we allow our belief

to later deny it as our instability; the facts say it’s

a case of seeing what we want - sans the reality

so the bathroom ceiling caving in from its termite

predation made sense - but repairs totally failed

progression beyond its immediate disaster zone

well, what need’s there to renovate elsewhere if

it looks okay, they’re mere door jambs & skirting

boards - along with the window frames; until the

bedroom door literally slumps off the wall with a

resounding crash on a quiet Sunday morning -

and so that’s where our calamitous rout began

Poetry from the Creek