Poetry

I am but a small mouse

By: Constance Woodring

skittering through the edges of your life.
So tiny, and yet so much power do I have over the female gender.
They are taught by the age of three to scream “EEK!” at the sight of me,
and they never outgrow their fear.

Each eek gives me nourishment. I grow and become strong.
At last I become a rat, and with my many kin, we ravage and pillage the sewers, kitchens, slums, barns
and war-torn trenches of everyone’s lives. Everyone is afraid now.

We are impervious to your piddling poisons and traps.

Our wee allies who ride our backs and spread plagues celebrate victories around the human-infested
world.

The meek and those a bit larger will inherit the earth.

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Categories: Poetry

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