Drought and then fire.
Now the mice are on the charge.
We wake up to black waste on the pillows
Leave the shower to see eyes shine from the ceiling.
Focus our weak torchlight beams at night
And witness a thousand wriggling rodents running.
We celebrate their mothers’ mourning
Spoiled by the acrid stench
And the maggots manifesting.
Now we pray for a flood to wash them all away.
Seemingly superior to another.