“Three blind mice…
Three blind mice
See how they run…
See how they run”
Echoes of scampering feet –
Some long gone, some yet to come.
The stench of ashes – burnt bridges
And rotting corpses
Of dreams that never learnt to fly.
Pink noses and twitching whiskers
Endlessly brushing against shelves
Of frozen and boxed memories.
Relics of fragile things that had been broken –
All packaged in the same damp cardboard.
Sharp teeth nip on a tail,
Exposed in the murky half-light.
The wheezing sound of a thousand lungs
Squeezing in the thin air of hope.
The torches writhe – dying.
Beady eyes – mirrors of each other,
Gleaming in the same shadows,
Dancing with the light of manic hunger.
The corridor turns – desperate scrabbling,
Sweat stains the air.
A moment’s pause – the wall looks familiar,
Something dredged from the past.
It had been built years ago –
Cured by a special kind of quick-drying cement,
A careful ratio of fear and opinion.
The sounds fade – the pack has moved on.
A mass of quivering flesh – blind and lost
Looking for the next corner, another turn.
A quick scurry, a jostle and a nip,
Another one pushes to the front.