Basho the cat, a fieldmouse, and I
Sat wondering under the Syracuse sky.
"Let's go out of town! Let's all go on a spree!
Let's go!" said the fieldmouse to Basho and me.

So we hopped in the car 'cuz I don't like to walk.
Said Basho: "I didn't know fieldmice could talk."
I started the engine, and giggled with glee
And the fieldmouse and Basho were laughing with me.

We turned the car South, got on I-81.
Said the fieldmouse: "I'm pining for Florida sun.
Let's go to the beach, we can run and be free!"
"A mouse that can talk..." Basho wondered at me.

The sun was quite low when we crossed the state line.
The mouse in the cat's arm, the cat was in mine.
We drove on contented, the musketeers three,
Basho the cat, talking fieldmouse and me.

While passing through Jersey we whiled the time
By hearing the fieldmouse sing strange little rhymes.
He sang of weird beetles, and moonpigs and ghee,
And how much he loved furry Basho and me.

Charlotte, Atlanta, we made all the rounds.
Soon Basho was teaching the fieldmouse to pounce.
We stopped often for gas, and to get our mouse Brie,
Some cat-chow for Basho and a Big Mac for me.

We hit Sarasota in three evenings flat.
In the backseat the mouse pounced on Basho the cat.
I gave up my car for a nominal fee,
And found a hotel with a job just for me.

Now I work every evening and sleep until noon.
And my cat and my mouse dance and sing in my room.
Our afternoons pass on a beach by the sea,
Basho the cat, talking fieldmouse, and me.

© Douglas J. Shaw 1989, 2002
for Kerry

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