My Son and the Mouse
We, walking to the park,
holding hands,
after rain,
saw a mouse on its side,
on the path,
near the grass,
dwarfed by my small, small son,
whose eyes,
full of life,
looked upon the mouse,
and asked me what it was.
A dead mouse, I pronounced.
My boy, unperturbed,
calm,
curious, stared.
‘The man will clear it up,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ my boy replied in agreement,
earnest,
trusting,
now knowing.
And returning to that spot a week later
My son sought hard for the mouse,
And, upon it not being found,
Told me, ‘The man has taken it away. It’s ok now.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s ok now.’