Late, In the Garden

I sip on a whiskey late at night,

In the beer garden.

I hear rustling behind me

But I pay no attention.

The rustling stops and I look down

Towards my foot.

A mouse is perched on its hind legs,

Looking inquisitively at me.

I laugh at it, wave my hand,

And say “Shoo!”

It wiggles its whiskers

And rushes away into the ivy.

This poem would have ended differently

If I had been inside and if

I had seen the very same

mouse.