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Rita Clare Nov 2010
My words spill out like mice
hiding in the cupboards and in the bread

Each ******* is crumbled
and humbled by gnawing
The tables are dusted with
delicate clawing

The marring is whispered
in squeaking silent sound
Impossible to see but
they are rife across the ground

In bed they find the warmth
in the goose down and the cotton
now sullied small diseases
will soon go washed forgotten

Trapping tactics once tried and true
seems wasted on these careful few
Snapping empty in the dark
no silent stealing will squeeze them stark

Each dream they waltz across the screen
like small and spying rolicking ribbons
Through the snowy evergreens and wanton queens
yet waking finds that they aren't fiction

To tame them in time
is what must be
So no more is cradled
by their incredulous creed

Now that they have all run of the house
From the floorboards to the flue
My fighting is futile against this furred Faust
For in my great battles, my life they've consumed

My motions through doors
now move with great heed
over my rasped wooden floors
of naked tails and featherweight feet

Each morning they find
themselves feeling bold
and swim like sirens
through my cereal bowl

At noon when I read
they shred and they gnaw
so I can no longer see
one word without a paw

In my evening bath
they sport small diving bells
As I dry myself off
from my towel I shake twelve

They admire in the mirror
and prance piano pirouettes
they've failed to adhere
to give respect to any threat

One day a magic made it though
to the edges of my mind
to cut short this ever frothing flow
and put my ******* bind

Then slowly, slowly, one by one
they folded flew and fell
I'd hardly hope this trial was done
but it all continued well

One night when they were scarce and few
only the faintest furred remained
I wonderfully slept sound and anew
Haunted dreams I no longer detained

The lonely left began to nestle in
an exodus through the sheets and bed
each whisker scraped soft on skin
and climbed back inside my head

— The End —