This is what I do,
says the mouse’s
niece, knee-high
to nothing, the
only witness to
the end of an
existence, a
toothpick
twirling just
beneath the
grate of a curb
side drain. Can’t
go pickin’ what
can’t be eaten,
she concludes.
But also, With
out digestion
there ain’t no
indegestion.
