“Wake up, wake up
We caught the mouse
But he is still alive
Please please go down to the kitchen”
“Stop poking me
I’m sound asleep
The mouse will die soon
This can wait until morning”
Then it was morning
I made my way downstairs
The mousetrap, empty, upside down
The mouse a foot away
Lying on his back
Kicking, jerking
Squirming, writhing
Unable to right himself
I slid a New Yorker under the helpless body
Laid an AARP magazine on the top
Rolled the bundle in a coffin-like cylinder
And carried the package to the driveway
What does one do when the mousetrap fails?
I tossed the crippled body into my neighbor’s garden
Watched as the leaves shook about
What now? How long?
I walked away, stoop-shouldered, head down
The demeanor of a guilt-ridden murderer
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