| Jonathan Berger's Poetry: Poem of the Day |
| The mouse stopped by again. "We've got to stop meeting like this," he said. When I didn't respond, he continued. "You've simply got to get out more. "This is not the kind of life a grown man should be living. "So she left you," the mouse said, "So she got your friends in the settlement. So you have nowhere to go and no desire to go and no one to go with. It doesn't matter, boy. This is not healthy." The mouse edged up to the fridge, nibbled on the generously donated cheese, and turned back to me. "You knew it was for the best. You did everything you could to make this happen. And now you complain? What's up with that? "Simply put," the mouse muttered, nose twitching in that mousy way, "You've got to move on. "Which is what I'm doing. I won't be stopping by anymore," the mouse said, "Fun as it's been, as good as you are to me, I'm gonna give you your space. You need to talk to people more in your socio-economic strata. "It's been good," the mouse told me, "But I'm outta here. Good luck." And, through his interspecial zone hole, he disappeared, leaving me just a little bit more alone. And, what felt like weeks later, my eyes finally refocusing on the space he'd abandoned, I finally found my throat, and turned to Harry, the purple ant-eater. "At least I've got you," I said, "Want another Goober?" |