Existential Mouse

Each night, in the bait
spot, a walnut wedge,
peanut butter, cheese.

Every morning for a week,
droppings in the drawer, home
only to paring knives while

the spring is thwapped, eats gone,
no corpse in sight. Existential
dread refuses to be caught,

naps by day, rises up the sink
pipe after dark to snack
on what I set out in my deep

need to have done with it –
scaly feet, twitching whiskers,
the sharp gnawing teeth.

Margaret Robinson

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