Poetry | Mousetrap | Mary Ann Schaefer

Mousetrap listen
A couple of mice
didn’t make it

home last night.  The
first one, scouting

the dark edges, roved
along the kitchen

tiles, whiskers
twitching like a Geiger

counter, and fell across
a dog’s water bowl,

a high-rim stainless
steel concave.  Without

a thirsty thought, its
small shadow scrambled

up and over and
into no way out.

Drawn to the stir,
all that splashing

clawing curiosity,
a second mouse

plunged in after,
and then neither

was alone to float
effortlessly like

bubbles rising to
the surface.  Come

daylight, the shock
of discovery rang

out in shrieks
and barks:  How

revolting . . . how
terribly captivating.