I Have a Mouse

I have a mouse

And by that I do not
By any means
Mean to indicate that this
Mouse is a pet.

I discovered him not long ago, perusing a discarded
Pizza box on my floor, its contents a bevy of molded cheeses met well by soggy
Pepporoni and, apparently Charlie's favourite, stale bread crusts.
I did mention that I named him Charlie, right?

Well, here I was laying in bed, the TV's quiet hum lullabying me into gentle
Slumber, when up comes a crickety, chirpy sort of sound from out of my pizza box.
I shifted around in my covers, resting bones cracking like machine work
Back to wakefulness, as I privy me little Charlie as a hazy ball of puff racing
Its way into my melodramatic paranoia. An illusion, I told
Myself for the hour I spent stalking
My one room apartment, hammer in hand and feet bravely
Shielded in leather boots.

I laid myself back to rest, the TV on once more, now to calm my wary nerves,
And a cigarette between pinched lips to calm my just less easily
Reassured nerves. An illusion, I lied again, certain I would rather insanity
To the invasiveness of a mouse in my humble abode. But just for safe
Measure I left the pizza box where it was and kept my eyes over
The horizon of my bedside on the cardboard container. Not
Five minutes went by before Charlie reappeared, astonishing
What little faith was left in my senses.

The next hour I spent scheming invader Charlie's demise,
Hammer back in hand, boots forcably revisisted to my yellowing feet.
I sat long in waiting, the lights dimmed to his rodent liking-- only bright
Enough that I might catch him at his pilfering. Snow fell heavy outside
The window. Sure enough he did descend
Out from the black of his hole in the wall where I had tracked him to.
The crackers I had strewn about the tile terrain were like mines
To the unsuspecting scout, him yet cautiously dancing a ritual
Of safety inspection about the area, unawares of the heavy doom
To be unleashed upon his mousy crown.

I could not move without giving myself away to Charlie, who inched ever closer
To the locale underneath my hammer's retribution. It would take only
One tiniest final scurry to meet himself with his inevitable doom, just one last
Scamper of his tiny little feet, a final fuzzy shuffle of his curious, hungry...
I couldn't do it.

Charlie stared right back up at me, as if aware of me all this time,
Almost expectant that I put down the hammer and only sigh
At his passing. He gathered
The bits of cracker he desired, leaving me to press
My head hard into my pillow and at last sleep.

Charlie is not a pet. He's more a roommate. It gets lonely
In this cramped, one room apartment of mine,
And I haven't the room for another human to stay.
So Charlie makes do. Sure, I buy the food, I pay the rent,
And all that sort, but I'll never need a vacuum to clean
Up the floors after my meals
Ever again.