there are mice running down
idle/barren winding roads
plump mice that know
lightning will never strike them
they stall and listen to thunder
but proceed faster or slower,
wet, they slip easier into
pipes and underground tunnels
that they have made, precisely
for moments such as these,
when the lights have gone out,
and they can pick the kitchen
clean, tactically like marines,
while a boy runs to his
mother’s arms, while the father
tells him to go back to bed
Alan Montes is a poet living in Austin TX. He is a student at Texas State University and an assistant editor at Profane Journal. His poetry has appeared in Bitterzoet, Scintilla, Bridge: The Bluffton University Journal, and here at BP.
Burnt Pine 