Thursday, 22 January 2009

Mouse Drowned in Bucket

Meniscus memory, you hold your shape,
A perfect cloud of you in the bucket:
Six cold months, or less perhaps, you've sailed
A miniscule ocean in interior winter nights.

A rhythmic gymnast, looped and coiled about
With freeze-frame squirls of ribbon; not so agile
To escape, no easy spring to bold applause, just
The end, occluded in the soft vignette of a pail.

I tip you out; your space dissolves. Your tiny
Bones crumble, splattered to mush across the compost,
Broken needle-tips specking a grey sludge.

A sullen will kept your integrity intact
In the clockless silence of that dead house.
We bore distasteful witness to it at last.

7 comments:

Abysmal Musings said...

Reposted from last July: no-one was reading back then - feel free to not read now! atb D

Mothy said...

I read it and was thoughtful.

Abysmal Musings said...

Thanks Mothy ;-)

LoopyKate said...

I love your poems even though sometimes I don't fully understand all of them - but then poetry's a bit like that and I'm a bit stupid some of the time.
This one was funny and also a bit sad.
I feel a bit like that mouse - today at any rate!
K.x

Hannah said...

poor mouse, i imagined him suspended frozen in the bucket looking beautiful and then as the ice melts his frail form just turns to mush. I agree with Kate, it feels sad.

Han xx

Lola Snow said...

"Broken needle-tips specking a grey sludge"

That I LIKE a lot. Fragile little mouse.

Lola x

differentlysane said...

Poor mouse. A microcosm of life perhaps?

Take care,
Differently