7.
My corner room has become
a bombshelter.
Or so one would be led to believe
with the barrage of poundings
that my ceiling sustains.
Eating my dinner I duck for cover
as WWII rages above me for a thousand dollars
per month.
Two terrible parents, two ignorant corpses
blissfully idling in a cool quiet drawer.
Two little children, two little mice,
scurrying and scooting and leaping and laughing.
Jumping over the moon and traps
on the floor.
Unbeknownst to
them is that below this scene
Creeps one wise-old alleycat...
with a pension for cremation
and a taste for mice feet.
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