A Crueller Trap

Mice spill from drywall holes,

rain from pink insulation. Black-eyed,

furtive scurriers, they inhabit limbo, peripheral

vision, the skiff of claws on concrete.

We set peanut butter traps, cheddar, a double

cream brie. They lick wires bare, feast but never

spring the catch. We wage a winter campaign,

find camaraderie in the trenches.

Though unintended, the result is the same.

Empty wine bottles hold mice like ships, bent

as in the womb. We have to break

the necks to spill the dead, and yes

I wanted them dead, but not this incremental

shrivelling, hunger gnawing a nest.