A Whisker Too Late

Time burns a hole through cinnamon gum
And you spit it out in place of a cigarette
That mellows minutes so nice and slow
While the cheese belly mouse begs
For an antacid, but he can’t really beg
Because he never figured out how
To get down on his knees.
So instead he bargains his next morsel of love
On a mousetrap for a way out THIS time.
While the next time he’ll be
Auctioning his whiskers to the highest bidder.
They’ll cut it all off without asking him about it first.
And he ponders the thought momentarily
As he wets his fur down one last time for his onlookers
While the man in the back of the bowling
Alley cleans his shears and contemplates
Masturbating to the face he saw earlier.