He’s in the garage
staring at the
cement floor drain
after a mouse
who has disappeared
into the night.
through the pipework
into the
drainage ditch
in the backyard
where the summer’s leaves
go to die by the
wheelbarrow load.
The cat
doesn’t understand
floor drains
or wheelbarrows
or vanishing mice
or red lasers
or mirrors
or calculating
compound interest.
The mouse
out the drain pipe
in the backyard
and into
the cool night air.
Tiny whiskers
rub against
dead leaves
making tiny noises
that travel back
up the pipe
to a floor drain
and a cat that
doesn’t understand much,
but knows escape
when he hears it.

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