A mouse fell into a paper bag

A day spent locked up. Raining. Wet firewood. Sloshing mud. The roof is leaking in the shed. Getting ready for winter. A mouse snuck up to the second floor, got stuck in the glue trap, but got out. Escaped and fell into a paper bag hanging on the wall in the living room for decorating purposes. In the morning, the son said he couldn’t bend his knee. So the trauma center, then the emergency room. Dirt on my shoes, on my pants, on my jacket. Unwashed head. Stubble. Waiting, waiting, waiting. In the evening, not sadness, not despair, not fatigue. Dullness and emptiness. The next day driving again, alone in the car. My hair is clean, but my thoughts have not cleared. On a familiar wave an unfamiliar song from a bygone era. Where usually English is now Russian. Wipers clear the road through the fall. A dead woman’s voice is singing about spring.