Termites Or Carpenter Ants Poem by Donal Mahoney

Old Herman says
from his wheelchair
in Helen’s Diner

when you get old
you see so many doctors
you forget which one

is asking about what.
There isn’t an inch
some specialist

isn’t poking except
for your armpits.
All you know

is your beams are shot
and your foundation
is cracked and you

don’t care anymore
whether termites
or carpenter ants

are having a feast.
All you know is when
the bus pulls up

at your terminal
you'll wheel your chair
onto the lift,

wave good-bye
like Richard Nixon
and be happy to go.