I wasted my cheese on them.
Crowded mouse traps
arousing
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.
Immediate.
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!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
This one made me laugh thinking about a similar adventure I had with mice in the past.
Gross mice lol
This made me laugh. Those pesky lil buggers find the smallest of holes to live in.
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.
LOL, that’s great Maggie.
Ugh!
I love the lines “I thought of fat old-age as / my step was cushioned by disgust.”
🙂 I dig that line too. I was excited as I was writing that one.