It's Still Life

The Old Woman Adopts a Mould Culture (For Research, Obviously)

The petri dish gleams on the windowsill—
a swirling nebula of sentient blue-green,
thriving on neglect
and last Tuesday’s lasagna sins.

The cat, honorary Head of Microbial Astronomy,
presses its nose to the glass:
“Fascinating. It has your eyes.”
The old woman nods.
“And your manners.”

The crow, MSc (Disaster Studies & Shiny Things Acquisition) —
Dissertation: On the Theft of Light: Solar Economics and the Morality of Glitter —
drops a stolen lab notebook:

Hypothesis: This is the afterlife—
or the future.

Day 3:
Mould writes a haiku on the toast:
Dampness / eternal like your love / but greener.

Day 5:
It develops strong opinions
about the old woman’s laundry habits.

Day 7:
Mould is elected mayor.

The ghost-robin gasps,
“It’s beautiful.”
The cat yawns,
“It’s unionising.”

Everyone votes yes.