Alone At Christmas

 

 

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

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