The dead mouse

A hot and humid June Sunday afternoon
thunderstorms building in the flurry of heat
still, like everything was holding its breath
sun beating down through bruised clouds
pale pink fluff edged with ominous blue
hammerheads that would beat rain’s rhythm

and there, by the weekend-quiet school,
at the edge of the pavement, was the mouse
lying on its side, a small trickle of blood
from its open mouth, front paws held together
curved back almost curled into a foetal shape
with eyes closed as if it was just having a nap,

probably the work of one of the nearby cats
it lay only inches from the ripening grasses
their long tufted heads laden with seeds
good eating for small creatures – mice, birds
in turn providers of sport for feline prowlers

we left the mouse there as if to let it rest
knowing that one of nature’s own dustmen
the roving ravens, crows or magpies
would make quick work of tidying up
a small reminder of mortality there in the midst
of the engine of all that summertime roaring life.

Emily Tee is a relatively new writer who’s had poems and prose pieces published in a variety of places online and in print, and in several anthologies.  Recent pieces have appeared in Unlost Journal, The Ekphrastic Review, Genrepunk Magazine, Whale Road Review and elsewhere.  Emily lives in the UK Midlands. She’s @emteepoetry on Instagram.