Of Mice and Meaning


I found mice today, cleaning out a closet he said was too full.
He was right you know,
about the closet that is.

Underneath all of the clutter and stuff that is my life
was a nest of shredded books and papers.
A paper back that was once mine, was now theirs.

Chewed and torn and turned into a home.
Only the top half of the book remained.

I coudn’t even make out the author’s name
or the title for that matter.
Bill something not that it matters now
but it did once.

Digging deeper,
I found more papers
More torn books
half chewed and then rejected.

Perhaps the binding was too tough?
Or the reading too slow.

Who knows.

In a moment’s time
my trusty vacuum cleaner
swept through their home
and my life
like a tornado Ripping it to shreds
until nothing was left.

I set traps
sticky ones that were supposed to be kind
or at least mess free
but they aren’t
a baby got stuck and cried for it’s mother
only she never came

And he wound up in the trash

I won’t use those again
it’s much too sad.

I’d rather buy a cat,
but he hates them
so we have mice instead.

The closet is empty now
purged of it’s former inhabitants
and free of bothersome clutter

waiting to be refilled
or reorganised
whichever comes first

much like my life

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