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.

The morning,

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.

One disaster

Seemingly superior to another.