driven from the boonies,
from the sticks,
from the countryside &
into the heart of the cities
where the pulse thumps against the brain
soothing the heart simultaneously with the
guaranteed promise of
an infinite energy &
an infinite wealth of interesting things to
sink one’s teeth into,
the mouse takes off their overalls,
throwing on the noir garb to blend in with those
contentedly covered in pollution—
and the country mouse, s/he does her/best
to breathe above the water
looking for a job without city experience
flexing irrelevant college degrees in the face of
those who have seen & heard it all &
when finally coming upon something that will
barely pay anything,
of which s/he is highly underqualified,
s/he bows to the overwhelming will of the
behemoth &
lives to reap the benefits of being at the
center of the heartbeat
for one more minute—
but the transplant, s/he grows weary,
because the living costs go up
but no one ever offers more to her/him &
as new blood from all over the world pumps in,
s/he begins to forget why s/he came here in the first place,
doing all that s/he can to stay breathing above the water,
getting a second job to supplement the worthless first one &
living hand to mouth,
hand to mouth,
hand to mouth,
while the college loans come knocking at the door
(and they don’t give a shit how hip ya think ya are) &
s/he ain’t getting any younger—
the water begins to flood in the mouth as the
arms begin to flail,
gasping ensues,
the water gets into the lungs &
the city laughs in the face of the little mouse on her/his last leg, saying,
“this place ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
delapruch 