My thoughts have been like the betraying tail of the mouse
I found in the trap yesterday morning, lively and nervous,
With a tiny dead companion curled up in the far corner
Seemingly sleeping. When I took them out and shook
The quick and the dead, the dead tumbled out obligingly
While the quick wedged itself upside down in the door
Of the trap and would not budge. Only the tail dangled,
Inviting a brisk tug. I tugged. The mouse clung, smaller
Than my thumb, stubbornly trying to make itself smaller
Yet. I surrendered and left the whole trap, open to the air,
Lying there in the far grass, vowing this was the last mouse
I'd torment for sneaking around in my house. Never really was
My house anyway, none of them ever were. I should
Tumble out obligingly myself, if I could ever be done with should,
But I'm still clinging, curling up in my own waste, trying to reel in my tail.
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