in the corner
where giant walls join, he stares
at me, or the painting on the sky
of drywall behind me

if my mate spots him, she
will demand martial action
I am to skulk across the laminate field
and use the mighty broom

then, the dustpan
scooping his carcass up
for the grave, beside the cat
in the yard

squirrels, pestiferously perched
on my fence, teeth sharp courtesy of my
redwood trim, will watch

no, I won't listen to my spouse,
and execute an overgrown mouse
I'll let him squeeze through the planks
and go where royal rodents go

still, I may go hunting yet--my prey?
those furry tailed acorn chiselers, who ravage
my redwood with impunity...
(they think)