From a bowl full of mice,
Their pitched voices rise.
"For me, that's too much" I say.
"We've got plenty more, honey — worries aside.
Eat well, my boy, and you'll be alright.
Sit and eat till the last bite!"
"That's not what I meant" comes to my mind.
I speak — but my words drown in the fight.
Slippers, mice, their voices, a shout,
Tiny traces hereabout.
Breakfast over!
Mice scattered, kitchen destroyed —
My thoughts are completely lost in the void.
To me, the mice hardly call for pity —
They seem about to catch a lift
Straight to another city,
Where nobody treats them like food.
Let's admit, life here feels quite shitty,
Nevertheless, mice look cunning and gritty.
Grey and small, I too am about to leave.