The Mouse That Got Away Yesterday

Your skull’s a kind of genizah,
Where worn-out words wait for proper
Burial In the soil of you.

For now, they’re hiding, our comrades,
Those thousands of old words you know,
The oldest respected the least,

As is often the case with you,
The elderly being pretty
Much useless unless high-status

Experts arrive with appraisals,
At which point you might find yourself
Suddenly impressed with yourself

For living in proximity
To valuable antiquities.
Whatever. Words don’t seem to mind

How the mind treats us anyway.
We’re like the mouse that got away
Yesterday, following an hour

Of being toyed with by the cat.
That mouse seemed indestructible
Although the cat could easily

Have killed it if not too intent
On playing with it, practicing
Whatever it means to be cat.