A burglar has come to my sleeping corner.
She’s a sneaky thief.
I hear the tiny scuffles
her four feet make
as she rummages near my pallet.
Her whiskers twitch.
“You can’t hide
in this wide-open place,” I whisper.
This red-eyed rat,
this crafty criminal,
knows I’ve caught her
before she can even try to steal
what’s mine.
She watches my yam scrap
with her red rat eyes,
hoping I won’t stop her.
This red-eyed robber is stealing,
but it’s hard to get angry.
She’s leaving behind a gift.
She’s given me a giggle.
I tell her,
“Go ahead, you sneaky thief.”
Scratches at the dirt floor,
scurries.
Escapes through a slit
in the rice-bag wall,
her red-eyed robber’s
safety hatch.