little straw hat

i wished to write a text about lack of choice

and as i thought of it once

turned it over in my head and thought twice

i reconsidered.

i find myself thinking of forlorn words

and wanting to put them on paper.

instead i write of a river, a fishing pole,

a little mouse with a straw hat and a basket of flowers.

if the words never appear on the screen, i figure,

then there is no evidence of them existing at all.

instead, we can now read of a rodent,

the size of a field mouse, such as the ones i watch at the zoo,

as it waits patiently, calmly, happily,

for an equally small in size fish to bite

so it can release it back into its waters

and watch the sun dip below the horizon

before returning to its small cottage carved into the bottom of a tree.

instead, we can now read of a small friend,

whos built a home out of scrap and bits from everywhere

inbetween the walls of a similarly comfy home belonging to larger than he.

with his little waistcoat buttoned up tight and the kettle warming

he waits patiently, calmly, happily,

for his equally small in size friends to arrive

so he can lay back and laugh with them

and watch the sun rise above the horizon

before seeing them out the door and smiling as they leave.

(MacDonald N/A)