They’re placing eight traps in the basement they told me,
those tall indifferent men who are, whether I like it or not,
doing their job so well.
Yesterday morning I heard you clamoring about in my cupboard,
looking for breakfast and
somewhere dry to eat it as we all do. I can’t blame you.
When the traps are set and the hardworking men
have gone home, I like to think I’ll step
quietly, kindly, into the crawl space,
very damp and home to all sorts of small, hungry,
furry, spindly, and important things
such as yourself.
I like to think that I’ll take those traps set with so much care
and toss them right in the garbage bin—
come inside, any and all,
ants, roaches, rats, it’s far too cold outside!
I like to think I’ll do this, and yet—
you can’t blame me, I’m only human—
I’ll keep food off the counter, I’ll keep my house
a little colder than I should,
I’ll make friendly conversation with the men
who now come once a week
to make sure the traps are, like we all are,
doing their job.
A bit of a longer one, kind of an experiment. Trying to figure out how to coexist.