The field mouse

"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley" Robert Burns

He crept out from behind a dumpster,

his claws scratching the cold concrete with each hop-scuttle .

His tail was frayed and missing some length,

sacrificed to a set of teeth higher up the food chain.

Sitting for a second but never still,

His head turned and moved and twisted constantly,

his eyes black as the moon's shadow swivelled in their sockets,

driven feral by survival.

His neurotic nose twitched constantly,

sampling the air in search of something edible.

Or perhaps it was trying to break free,

no longer satisfied with being the nose of

a mouse from behind a dumpster.