Like that mouse
who clung to the cabin wall
by its pale, delicate nails,
its shapely knuckles curved tight,
and then its tail flicking
side to side like a tongue over
its plump thumb of a body,
as if joining the argument,
clawing its way up, swaying
until, in the morning, the soft
collapsed body of the mouse,
stuck half in, half out of the wall,
as though he’d heard beckoning
noises from the field, as though
he’d tried to drive straight through
and batter his small way there.
Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2011
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.