that mouse you saw in the hall
turned out to be a rat
admittedly small and docile
but still a rat
when I went in for the kill
it curled up in my palm
puny and piebald
its little pink fingers entwined
its tiny red eyes
watery and so very human
I should strangle it I thought
that’s what you do with rats
but feeling its neck begin to crack
like last Sunday’s chicken bones
I hesitated
I can’t do this I thought
so let it scuttle down the garden path instead
from where black and arched
like a cartoon villain
it turned to leer
now like the sum of all my fears
it will return
and I’ll be waiting
Reblogged this on Another Way of Saying.
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Oh dear…no good deed…
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It’s still out there somewhere, Thanks for your comment.
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Ah Nigel, gentle soul that you are. I couldn’t kill it either.
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Fears, worries, anxieties – they are all a part of what makes us individual. Anyway, I feel guilty killing a wasp.
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