Deermice in the cabin …
What they don't eat they chew up
for bedding … GET LOST! NO MICE!
I roar at one, not five feet
from me. He never looks up.
Goes on with his zigging and zagging
from speck to speck. . . . Although
he's mostly all head and the head
mostly all ears, either
he hears nothing at these
stentorian frequencies
or nothing must interfere
with his speckulations. Well,
in a bug, you could understand it.
They're in some other dimension.
But a fellow mammal with lung
and tongue and a squeak of his own
and the Supreme Law of the Place
being thundered from on high
and him oblivious—both
to the quality and the quantity
of the announcement! It's
un-nerving. Especially
when you think of Poindexter, North,
Casey, or, bordering on
the eponymous, Meese.











By permission of the author.