A Private View Poem by Richard George

From underneath I glimpsed her waiting heels
(Third floor at five o'clock) . For seconds flat
I was the ground where ants beheld a queen.

She calls me 'Mouse man' now that I've downsized.
I skip and scurry through her carriage-spokes,
Seek loopholes in her shield in which to hide.

But mice cannot confront the beast that prowls
And barbecue it. They won't raise her roof.
They're horribly susceptible to owls.

So to the womb of terror they retreat.
They worship womandom to sleep alone
And when they walk caress with creeping feet.