The Mouse at 900 Bernard St.

The mouse,
Is but a simple creature, hoping to find his next meal,
Or perhaps a mate, sometimes.
His nose is sensitive, and he feels
The hot air of the sunny spots between the alley walls
And the cool pungency of the litter and trash
And he fondly remembers the little bit of bread that dropped
Torn, by gravity‎, from the morning sandwich a busy‎ busy
Somebody had been eating on her way to work.
And he's at the ‎apartment entrance,
This little building that housed about twelve‎ people, now soon to be demolished,
By a big construction crew,
"Malenna Construction Co."‎ ----the sign, white and red, sticks proudly to the strip of grass next to the sidewalk,
And Mouse slips inside the front door.
The complex is 4 stories tall and two units wide,
And Mouse remembers the time that he almost got killed; One of the residents very much did not like rodents,
And had nearly taken him out with a cleverly placed trap between the dishwasher and the kitchen trash can.
He escaped, barely,
And never returned to that unit again,
Though the food she cooked was superb,
He decided it best to just eat her trash,
Which was nicely deposited in the dumpster behind the complex,
Near his dwelling area.
Mouse walks up the little passageway he'd come through so many times before, up the wall innards and to the top of the roof.
The roof entry had a sizable gap under the door, and he would always slip under and sunbathe, or relax or hear the jets fly by.
Today, he wanted to see the view of above the low buildings and houses and trees for the last time.
The roof was wide and low-walled;
Mr. Griona's potted ivy was still on the little bistro table
That sat with two chairs in the heat
Three's a crowd, they say,
Four's just a bother, thought Mouse.
Which would be him. A bother.
A cute little six inch bother.
Mouse clambered up the chairs, then jumped onto the low wall
And looked over the scenery:
The big bank building to the east,
The port docks that recieved the big ships,
The bridge that connected part of the city
To the north section,
The busy street that was always busy
In front of the apartment
And he took in the tangy air
So many smells. The scents!
There was the gasoline and the rice cooking and the burned TV dinners and the hot machined air that wafted from the vent shafts,
The whirling domes of heated air
A steady blur,
And he thought of Mr. And Mrs. Earthin,
Old and happy together, always a taste of good wine in the breeze from their window.
Mouse knew there were better sights to see and tastier scents to smell and bigger buildings and smaller houses and larger little worlds,
But he wanted to keep hold of 900 Bernard St. a little longer.
Demolition was tomorrow,
And really it was for the best.
The complex was falling apart
And the previous owner was indicted on drug charges,
So the city wanted a nice little midrange housing area here,
Not that there was too much here anyway.
The crisp sun was waning, and the rays were almost directly in Mouse's eyes now, the vivid sunset
A sort of postcard,
"Beautiful Bernard St. So little yet so so big."
And if you looked closely,
A little brown mouse
Standing on his haunches,
Peering over the great unknown
Looking into the sun.