In Memoriam of an Alley Mouse
“Push me to the edge; all mice friends are dead.” – Lil Uzi Vert
Cauliflower ears, on that head upon concrete. Body paralyzed from some mysterious affliction. Stuck in stasis against the asphalt, the starless midnight sky serves as hospice. Death-gaze transfixed on the neighbor’s garage, savoring the fleeting mundanity. Shivers. Intermittent tremors turn the body spastic for some split seconds, then back to despondence. Black ants crawl across their prey, stealing morsels of numb flesh from its slowly stiffening abdomen, carrying their prizes along single-file lanes until they reach home. Some things never reach home. Some things lie in Chicago alleys overnight, well aware of the slowly approaching clutches of the reaper. That skeletal grip, guiding souls back to where they belong. Those black boots, hiding the neighbor’s garage from view. The hands, holding both flame and forgiveness. The hooded head with the breath of sour smoke, bowed and close enough to steal a kiss.
Inhale. Exhale. Release.