In the morning, we found a rodent
Lying flat by the door, hell-bent
On eliciting screams of horror.
Everyone left, one by one,
Until it was just me and the bright sun
And the little mouse –
My father says mole!-
Eyes half-shut, on the floor.
Soon I discovered it was playing possum,
Injured or sick and moving bit by bit.
Every time I ventured downstairs
We would match slightly terrified glares
As it moved closer and closer to the door.
To reach the sink, I had to leap
So every second I would peep
At its frozen figure, hairy, monstrous,
And then I jumped, across the couch,
Landed with a squat and an “ouch!”
Washed the dishes,
Rinsed and repeated,
To see that its position it had not forfeited.
What? Don’t look at me like that. It was scary. I swear.