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!-

Sitting motionless, 

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.