Mouse Traps

I wasted my cheese on them.
Crowded mouse traps
bad breath.

Each corner laced with death.
A scurry,
then a smack.

Before traps, I stepped on one.
I thought of fat old-age as
my step was cushioned by disgust.

Its repulse stench slithered up
my slender frame offensively.

I jumped back.
Overflowing with resentment.

Till the traps came marching in.
One by one.
Setting themselves gracefully.

It was no peace offering. They got the cheese.
I got the wine.
Kicked back, relaxed,
waiting for the
scurry, scurry, snap! 

8 thoughts on “Mouse Traps

  1. Sent a shudder up from my bare feet as I read…. Brilliant. I have one about a dead rat, but no one has the “pleasure” of stepping on it. As ever, your poem can be read on numerous levels with the metaphors… Love it.

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