the house has termites. it wouldn’t be such a problem if he’d just agree to fix it. well, he has agreed, but the only action he has taken is acquiring the circus style tent needed. I can see the orange and red stripes from my bedroom window. Just in case I forgot that a colony of wood munchers was slowly eating our house away.
“Don’t you care!?” I ask, you live here too
“It’s not that bad, I’ll do it soon”
In the mean time, I feel like I am in a war zone. Every knick in the wood looks like a potential portal to hell. It becomes difficult to decipher their gritty eggs that fill the wooden cracks from the harmless sand we bring home from the beach. Or the small black body of the termite from a fruit fly.
I think I could go crazy,
no, I’m sure of it.
the tree tops are waving, not sure which way. I couldn’t tell you a thing about the direction of the wind because it seems to move in circles and
stop.
To know I have the ability to explore that tree top, if I cared to at all, only makes my failure more evident.
I have been baking for a long time. Puffed up to fill the mold, I will slide out with ease because I remembered to grease the pan. I’ve done good. “congratulations!” they say.
Can’t decide whether to tell them to eat me, or take a bite myself.
I know I’m a cake,
but I’d rather be a watermelon.
