This April the mice have invaded my life and thoughts.
They are shameless in my apartment, darting clear
through the middle of the room. Yesterday one ran straight
into my shoe, bounced off and continued on his way.
Now mice are everywhere with me. Every plastic bag
blowing across the road, every glint from a pot lid
grows whiskers and a tail. Pot lids at least are in the
kitchen. Why does my brain insist on worrying
about mice crossing city streets? I do not blink at
rats the size of badgers trundling through the subway tracks.
What do they say? Once stumbled into, twice shy?