On The Eating Of Mice

 A woman prepared a mouse for her husband's dinner,
roasting it with a blueberry in its mouth.
 

 At table he uses a dentist's pick and a surgeon's scalpel,
bending over the tiny roastling with a jeweler's loupe .
 .
 .
 

 Twenty years of this: curried mouse, garlic and butter
mouse, mouse sauteed in its own fur, Salisbury mouse,
mouse-in-the-trap, baked in the very trap that killed it,
mouse tartare, mouse poached in menstrual blood at the full
of the moon .
 .
 .
 

 Twenty years of this, eating their way through the
mice .
 .
 .
 And yet, not to forget, each night, one less vermin
in the world .
 .
 .

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