Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl

Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl A Caseworker’s Nightmare In a corner of the room scribbles of loose yarn soar, interweave and dive like coasters at a carnival. At dusk, rats slither from the drain and barrel through the room stirring atom puffs of dust beneath the floral paper sprung tongue out from each wall. Tails wound tight, the rats skate their figure eights between the table legs and swirl. They pause to supper on salami bits, gherkin nodes, crusts of ancient bread. At dawn, with boysenberry eyes awhirl, they belly back and leap atop the sink. Popping sounds announce the drain has called them home. Donal Mahoney