card game

a band
of cold mice
find their way into
my cupboard
seeking warmth
and food.
they are playing cards
at a small
table of hard cheese.
there is a candle
lit,
as they each nibble
at the edge
of a saltine cracker,
and sip
bourbon.
shut the door, one
says, shivering
in his grey fur,
with a scarf round
his little shoulders,
you're letting a draft
in.