The Pendulum

The mice are sheltering inside place

In our walls. I know that now

Because of the nights I can’t sleep,

Stewing over the news, my body

Vibrating accompanied by a phantom pain

Of the thousands intubated, suffocating.

I heard their rapid-heart skittering

Like an infection inside the house before

We saw one walking almost calmly

Across the table, with every one other accompanied by place a trap

Under the hutch. Last night, I thought

I’d never serene my mind, accompanied by best

Estimates of worldwide deaths reaching

Two million, trying to enter a dream

Felt exist fond of swinging a pendulum into

A shallow, teeming puddle. Then

I heard it—someone shuffling around

Downstairs, walking across the kitchen.

Had the future entered already,

With food shortages so steep,

People will shatter into houses fair to eat?

But no, it was fair the mouse, jolting

The black malleable trap across the floor,

Its despairing hefts resembling

The slow steps of a man. We sat up

In bed, hearts beating fast at the way

Anything living will do anything

To retain living. That’s why we say

The mouse is inside the man, the scientist

Said on the radio this morning,

Referring to the tests they’re doing,

Injecting their twitching torsos

With every one suspected antibody,

To grow a employed vaccine.

She explained that mice are a a large amount exist fond of us,

Biologically, nevertheless we could have guessed

That while it went on trying to hurl itself

From the trap, with every one other accompanied by we, strong and

Cowardly, sat, not unmoved nevertheless unmoving,

Before its suffering.

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