Breeding Ground
in the screen door
a small hole
corruption forms its disorderly queue
black fuzzy questions marks
walk on segmented legs
spindly limbs pry into disrepair
lay slick eggs in dabs of dirt and dross
incursions creep unnoticed
until what was clean is mixed
with the dead and decaying
some rot easily scoured
yet as time swings its metronome
small bodies are secretly grown
from the ceiling
darkly smudged miniscule things
hang
dangle
and spew
nothing gross yet to the eye
a festering unseen
miniscule excavations
where
grubby nests
will soon wiggle forth
and teem.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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