A few moments after I entered the room this morning,
I heard the soft rustling that denotes the resident mouse,
hurrying to find a mostly-concealed path under counters
and tables to wherever it hides when people are there.
But the noise sounds different, more defined and plastic.
When I look into the five gallon white plastic bucket,
the mouse looks up at me-- frozen, frightened, fluffy--
in a container only filled with its own droppings.
I slowly begin to tilt the bucket, letting the mouse adjust
to the change in its center of gravity before I let go.
I don't look back as I walk away and start my routine
until the familiar scratch of small claws under the table
makes me realize I could've taken the bucket outside.
Megan, I really like "frozen, frightened, fluffy" as adjectives. As a reader I can really feel how the speaker's attitude toward the mouse changes in that moment. Though, as the ending shows, not THAT much. Cool poem.
ReplyDeleteHave you ever thought about getting rid of the captchas? They might be keeping people from commenting. I got rid of mine during NaPoWriMo and I'm not getting more or less spam because of it.
ReplyDeleteOh, also (sorry I'm talking so much here), I just added you to my blogroll ... a little late but now done. Hope you're well.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the add. I am well, and I didn't know you could get rid of the annoying captcha images. I'll look into that. Thanks.
Delete