PEOPLE ASK ME WHY I AM TERRIFIED OF MICE

By Eleanor Carpenter

Patter-scratch it went, up one leg,

deviant stroke of silk on fur,

before a nightmare skirmish of claw and tail

in my sleeping man’s nethers.

Next day, there it was,

with soulless fish-egg eyes

and pink hand-paws,

awaiting me.

Before I could scream—

its eyes bulged marbly,

nose distended shrewish,

legs unfolded roo-ish,

jaws voided—oh, oh, oh—

an undead soprano.

In its own echo it withdrew,

under my skirting.

No sign for weeks and then—snap—

the trap! Behind the panel,

there it was—not headless dead—

but glaring glassy-eyed

and, in its harpy fingers,

a cutip from the bin—

with waxy orange end

(which recently had penetrated someone’s ear)—

decapitated.

Before we could scream it started—

oh, oh, oh…

That was ten years ago.

But even now, when I’m alone,

resting in the dark bedroom,

sometimes I itch,

the air thins

and I can discern—

oh, oh, oh…

#DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony