Another shiny new poem smelted from the rusty ore of old “Listening Post” prose.
For years I had the dismal duty of adding
tiny forlorn corpses to the household trash.
One fall, during the first cold snap (the kickoff
of rodent season), I invested in a live trap,
hoping to shorten my sentence in Hell.
After that, my morning chore took me
out into fresh air, down the trail out back
to perform an act of liberation.
There was just this niggling suspicion that
each morning I released the same mouse,
who saw a long walk back and a warm night
in stir as fair trade for sharp cheddar.