Walking—a good time
To think, to talk, to avoid doing.
Sometimes.
But when it becomes habit,
(like everything else),
Expect the unexpected.
A mouse, a baby mouse at that,
Should not be left lifeless.
It almost looks cute,
Lying on its stomach like that.
But class beckons;
No time for a burial.
(I’m sorry, little mouse.)
Hours pass.
Time interludes.
Feelings and habit take precedence
Over thought and awareness.
At times, we forget to remember.
The flies brought it all back:
A dead mouse, the same footpath.
But the flies signify more:
Decay, (dare I say it) death.
Disgust replaces pity;
Aversion, compassion.
I’m sorry, little mouse.
Time was cut short before;
Now, I simply forgot to remember.
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