Thanks to
Bearings Online, for publishing this poem about trying--and sometimes failing--to be kind to the mammals who only want to share our homes and our crumbs.
Freeing the MiceOr maybe it’s the same one over and over,
tempted by a peanut butter smear,
sharp onyx eyes and rough dun coat
I keep releasing each morning
like the sun rolling home.How now, brown mouse?I carry my
mus musculusfarther off each day
across parkways and creeks.
Skittery feet scrabble, try to brake,
the world gone liquid,
swirling on all sides.I offer tall grass,
gnarled roots for cover,
but unlike his earlier incarnations
mouse
du jour won’t budge.
I’ve heard their eyes are weak,
yet this one seems to study me,
unfazed. Does he preferthe devil he knows—my fleshy hands and human smell—
or is he just stone dumb? I tip the trap
until he slides, and when
his feet touch earth he pauses,
whiskers questioning the chilly air,
just before he scurries offtoward the peril of an open field.