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Ze House Mouse

A poem, written by a friend:

A mouse ate my poem


By Mack M. Vann III



Seven times seven, she whacked at the mouse,
a wily wee varmint running her house.
And seven times seven it scurried away,
whiskers a’dancing , a dismaying display.

Six steel traps set, baited to please,
wafted aromas ,“quick death for cheese.”
Cunningly placed, there her hopes hung,
quickly erased, all stayed unsprung.

Five exterminators, accoutered to kill,
they stayed and they sprayed, then submitted a bill.
When ten heavy boots trod out the door,
the rodent rapscallion readied round four.

In the four corners, she lit candles and prayed,
beseeching the elements and house gods for aid.
Through casting and chanting, no creature died.
The spirits were fickle, not all on her side.

Three weeks she starved it. The cupboards stayed bare.
She dined in fine restaurants. The vermin ate air.
Returning home confident to restock her larder,
She saw a fat mouse and vowed to try harder.

To her back door, salvation came calling,
yellow eyes, sharp fangs and hooked claws for mouse mauling.
With a pat and a purr, more ally than pet,
Nature knows what needs doing, a battle plan’s set.

Once night falls, mouse makes its rounds,
“New smells in the air? What are those soft sounds?”
No time to scurry, all’s lost a pounce.
A skinny black cat just gained an ounce.

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Words.

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card
Which is blank, is something that he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself;

One must be so careful these days.
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