A Small Rodent, Dying (poetry)

For Poppy

Such a small life — short in terms of weeks and days
it could be my life spent — played out
within the plastic walls of a safe cage
and barely touched by the bigger world outside
unaware of me — my loves and underlying tragedies.

This scrap of flesh and fur has reproduced —
in her time fulfilled her biological instruction —
the blueprint she was born with —
me too — I’ve long passed on whatever’s hidden
in my genes — the cycle over — I now wait redundant.

I’m glad this tiny creature doesn’t know —
has no fear — no concept of dying —
she doesn’t miss her offspring — watch the clock
but sleeps away her frailness — has no thoughts
to worry her — she has no mind to wonder how or when
                                Death will come calling.

I watch her laboured breathing — sigh my useless sympathy —
nothing to be done — she’s fading — her energy’s
one candle burning low even as she tries to feed —
struggles with awkward limbs to follow instinct —
brave or simply stubborn — clinging on to what is left
                                of a brief life.