Mouse Calls
My tail unshrivels.
Where it was as thin as ash
on a human cigarette, it wags like a finger.
Ears: they appear
like velvet saucers, picking up
radio signals.
Someone has put a new
speaker into my squeaker:
EEEK.
As for my eyes,
they spark like arcs of fire
and my whiskers
have the consistency
of shoe-laces
on a toddler's plimsolls.
I could swallow a truckle of cheese
and frisk
with a bucket of biscuits.
I hope the humans
don't find me handy,
not while I'm randy:
if they grew young like this
they would never
shut their fat traps.
