ANGRY MOUSE
 
The mouse driving the red sports car
is never angry. 
Never thinks about leaving his wife
for the hot cat down the street.
Never shakes his head
at how he’s nuts to be in it
with a predator like that, 
except he’s always thinking how he can’t 
live without her, can’t live without her.
 
The mouse always gleefully steps on it. 
He never sits in the grocery store parking lot 
counting out his change. 
Thinking how he’s gotta figure out
a way to go digital, 
This guy, he’s one of those mice
that wears a Hawaiian shirt 
but no pants. He’s got his car keys
in one hand, and all that cash in the other.
That’s hard. That’s heavy.
When they stare at him, he’s thinking
maybe they should try it sometime.
But who will give a mouse
a bank account?
 
The mouse in the sports car
never finds he’s spent the last hour 
staring listlessly through his half-
moon readers on their tiny chain
at his tiny phone
While ignoring texts from his wife
asking where he is 
with the charcuterie plate for the party
He never stops to think how
those wood trays
with their tiny bits of cheese
and crackers
look a bit like bait.
 
The mouse zips home,
never remembering
till it’s too late
that he forgot the toothpicks.