Hiding from the next burst of dusty air
He scrambles further into the rusted tank
Hiding from truth and false realities of joy
The mice around him seem busy
Fighting for the last crumbs of bread
Their spiky fur now dusty and unfriendly
This was a home he now loved
One human inhabitant and a thousand mice
This rusted old tank was all he had
All he owned
All he inherited from the its previous tenant
It was all he could ever give as a gift
He hugged his dry legs
They lacked moisture and gloss
The crack-lines formed several patterns
He could feel his skin crack even more
It hurt
Oh yes it did
But this was the least of his worries
His stomach growled
The chill was getting worse
The dusty harmattan wind was torturing
It carried the sweet aroma of Christmas food and
lots of dust
The aroma was torturing
He hungered
He hungered for a lot
Warmth
Shelter
Love
Food
Companionship
Clothes
And family
He wanted it all
He watched them complain about silly things as they
walked past his tank each day
They nagged about foolish things
He wished he could worry about such
Low batteries
Lack of power
Insecurity
Broken heels
Broken homes
And others
He had no reason for such complaints
He knew nothing about all that
He had never experienced such
Unknown to him were his parents
The streets fathered him
And hustle was his mama
This tank was now his home
The mice…his tenants
Alone he was at Christmas
Alone and hungry
Alone in the cold
Alone in his tank
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Twitter:@sylviaoz
© SylviaChika
2013
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