[Newspoetry] Final poems?

[Donald L Emerick]

Of Men and Mice, II

I choose among two choices,
which edge to sharpen next,
and which one to blunt dully,
a stone ax strikes stone ages,
to fell them from their holds.

The rat who gave his ass
knew that giving a rat's ass
about anything controversial
was quite pointless sacrifice.

Yesterday, mouse squeaked
about his fatigue-color fears,
how undistinguished he'd be
if he found a nice hidey-hole,
from which to sally forth safely
when searching for morsels,
avoiding the few nine-lied cats,
graciously strewn lazy sprawls,
furring, purring, sleeking softly,
who bemusedly tease and toy
with their prey before killing.

Today, though, man speaks
about his fear-colored fatigues,
about how distinguished he'd be
were he to find a nice hidey-hole,
in which was hiding some weapon,
a hole a blond hero would plug,
stuff it with an incendiary bomb,
allow its one shining memento,
in flaming last memories of life;
they'd give the man in fatigues
all praise, honor and glory,
to kill other men as mice.

Tomorrow, the wily rat says,
I'll think my way past this maze
which confuses me every day.
Just then, the hidden trap snaps
its yawning indifferent jaws of life,
jars death free to be, jerkily, itself.
Rat spasmodically twitches his tail
one last time in awed recognition
of the beauty of such a scheming.

Thanks for listening,
Donald L Emerick