Mouse Traps

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! 

Polly

In case of necessity, hang your husband.
Your pistol might misfire, but prevent.
It will happen, poor turtle!
Your slow shoes will be suspicious; sluggish,
lame,
dragging the accused on a rope.

What a shame personal bravery is. Suspecting
everything
but its own heart. Much better a
widow than
a former, I suppose.

So, just in case, keep rope.
Mary or
Heather or
Anne will lay weight on
your fool. Pretty wretch!

Then wine,
then pistol,
biting cries then
silence.
She can’t escape without her eyes!

He means
to bury himself deep
in your bed,
where you may find happiness
tomorrow,
but

the rope!
A whore will steal everything but!

Deprecating Tongues

wicked strikes
on
language
reaching
over seas
across
time difference
plaguing
mental disease
on
populations, tribes,
nationalities

breathe in polluted
words
breathe out
anxious
injurious
leftovers

bipolar whispers
grumbling fault finders
sniveling rascals
serial hope killers
poisoning
airways
stench upon
putrid vocabulary stench

virtually
grasping hands around
necks
and squeezing spirits
away.