The Hunter
Mice scurry in senseless circles
Inside the yawning feed trough
Where they’ve entered, finding
They’re trapped without a exit
They hurry, making haste in fussing
Noiseless and anxiously contemplating
Their fate, their doom or fortune
Will the cat capture a taste?
I see them, know their struggle
They’re trapped in a prison
Of their own making and I leave
The cat there, relishing in it’s play
Moments later, they’re small corpses
Only the cat in its gray stripes
Lingers with the cold dead bodies
It’s freed them from their jailhouse
Euphoric, the cat almost smiles through
Lengthy whiskers that seem to say
“I’ve done my duty – I’ve slayed the varmint”
Purring, it goes on its way, hunting pests
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