Prompt 4: The Orphan

Fixing his motorcycle, dormant all winter

He found a nest of mice

Huddled together in the tailpipe

The fearful mother fled, abandoning

Her doomed baby, eyes shut, helpless.

How could she? It’s instinct. Save yourself.

The baby’s mouth opened and closed, imploring

The world for  sustenance, comfort

Why should I pity this vermin who, grown, would only

Plague me later? But dutifully, with eyedropper, I fed it

Formula, the false milk of man

And, of course, it died.



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