We prized open Aunty’s front door.
The smell of mould stuck in my nostrils.
The house hadn’t been lived in for some
time now. I heard little paws scurrying for
cover. It must be mice. We all moved into
the lounge. A thin layer of white dust
coated the chairs. Uncle went up to brush
away some grime and plump up a pillow,
so Aunty could sit. Natalie, go and boil
the kettle love, there’s a dear, Aunty said
shakily. I went into the kitchen and turned
on the tap. Foul brown water gushed out
and the pipes shook and groaned
alarmingly. I searched for some teabags
and milk powder. When I returned, Uncle
had gone off upstairs to turn down
Aunty’s bed. No one even sipped their
tea. Aunty was going to take a nap. I
hated to think what state her bedroom
was in. I supported Aunty under the arm
and we hobbled together to the foot of
the stairs.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

79 thoughts on “Mice”

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