Mouse, Little Mouse, Eight Months Later
Eight months it has sat in my freezer
wrapped in paper towel and double
bagged. Eight months ago I
felt sorry for it, thought it deserved more
than being tossed out my window to rot
in the weeds. Eight months frozen
with no plans for defrost.
A stiff cold mouse isnít something
you show to the girl you invite over
for dinner. Unless thatís the kind
of thing the girl would be into. Then,
maybe, she would want to find
other dead animals to freeze. The robin
mistaking a window for air; a squirrel
that wasnít fast enough. But I didnít
do it for the act.
Heís as good as buried in my freezer.
The frost keeps building as I keep
forgetting and now itís as cold outside
as it is for him. Might as well
let him chill until April and then give
him a grave in the ground. Something
none of his family will ever have. But
they can visit him, leave flowers, remember
the good times and hope to die outside.
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