View from the Attic

In your house, perhaps inside your walls,
live creatures, hiding, buzzing, murmuring,
rarely seen, their bodiless heads talk
and fuse to form a global brain.
Non-descript, chameleon, they slur
their scowls and sneers to then assume
a sophisticate, affected air.
They’ve drilled small holes to peer at us,
mocking, hissing, laughing at us.
Their puppets dangle on a string.
If you ever found them hiding
there in the basement, slithering through
the ducts, underneath the floor,
you’d scream running and never come back.
But the puppeteers don’t see their Enemy
watching, listening from the attic.