Friday, 3 April 2015

A poem about mice

Just to amuse myself I wrote this poem this morning. It's based on something that happened a few years ago.

Catching Mice

Seconds after lights out,
I hear the trap drop.
The buggers are in!
I creep downstairs,
pick up the long grey
plastic trap, feel the weight,
feel the movement.

I open the pet carrier,
empty the trap.
So fast, so small.
I shut the lid.
Settle, I say,
I’ve left you food.
The mouse looks back.
Our eyes meet. It knows.

By morning there are three
in the carrier. I ignore them,
but they need not plead,
they already have my measure.
I walk to the wasteland,
open the lid, set them free.

They scuttle through grass
and brambles. No thanks.
No looking back.
At least they are together.

Next day
I have caught
one lonely mouse.
I take it to the waste ground,
my soppy, worn heart strings
plucked by a rodent;
my sorrow dwells
on the aloneness
of this tiny furry being.
I wish it well.

My husband seals up the hole
in the kitchen,
no more little night entries,
no dropping door
as blackness fills the house.
I think of the wasteland
and wonder if mice have GPS.

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