They'R-R-R-Re Back (A Fable For Modern Times) Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

Termites once infested the house.

Owners called the exterminator
Tented the place
Toxic gas spewed throughout
And all was quiet,
Or so it appeared.

The colony retreated
Safe in deep tunnels
None were apparent
Underneath it all.

In the nest,
Workers protecting their queen
Until the danger was passed
Then slowly they emerged
Showing a head here and there.

Attack was their only way of defense
When attention was focused
On the damage they had done
It was quickly dismissed.
Support came from the expected sources
As nourishment was provided
For their widespread troops.

Paper seemed to be favored
But the very air was charged
And the electronic aura created
Made them appear
Not a challenge at all
But something of value.
Something that somehow
Make their way better.
No one questioned
If this was true.

Damage to the house
Was said to be the fault
Of the current residents.
The past was ignored
And while in fact
Owners from years before
Were responsible
For most of the problems
That emerged,
They remained blameless.

When the heat
Was turned off
On the house
The creepy-crawlers grew stronger.
No one questioned whether
It was right and proper
For them to return,
The only question was when.

The house became vacant.
With the passing of the season,
It was swept clean.

Some thought the new owners
Would be different
Expecting them to bring Change.

The New Owners arrived
Surrounding themselves with
Others who had been with them before.
But they had no friends. Only takers.
(For that is the way of this town.)

Now all that was necessary was
For the silent ones to return.

At first only a few were seen
But that's their way.
They crawled along the familiar corridors
Left bare by the sweeping out
Of the last owner.
Halls were to be walked anew.

Some appeared not to notice,
Others even cheered.
Change was now.
The new owners were all too ready
To accept whatever
Would make them
Appear to be willing to compromise.

Almost from the first
The Queen emerged
Surrounded by her minions.
Workers all too ready to do her bidding.

The drone had done his job
And while some paid homage to him
Most recognized
Him as a nuisance
That must like all
Drones before,
Fall to ground.
His wings clipped and damaged.

With the passage of the season
They spread until
They were to be seen
In almost ever crook and crevice
The walls echoed their footsteps
Their march became more pronounced
Until even the non-vigilant
Became alarmed.

But it was too late
Her troops fed ever on paper
And destroyed all
That had once been bedrock.
They spread
As only they can.

Once the house was captured and secure
They spread to other structures.
Their tunnels were deep and wide
With soldiers defending
What they had captured.

Opposition was quickly crushed
In ways that would turn the stomach.
Beheading was much too civilized
For their victims.

Those that once served as regulators
Found their arsenal of tricks diminished
Their hands were tied by too many rules
Until they could only fight with bare hands.
The contests were one sided at best
More like a massacre.

Finally the stone mason was called.
In the stones covering the graves
Were chiseled, not the names of those buried below,
But instead the names of the victors:

Panetta,
Emanuel,
Craig,
Richardson,
Gensler,
Summers,
Browner,
Holder,
Johnsen,
etc.,
etc.