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  A woman prepared a mouse for her husband's dinner,
roasting it with a blueberry in its mouth. 

  At table he uses a dentist's pick and a surgeon's scalpel,
bending over the tiny roastling with a jeweler's loupe . . . 

  Twenty years of this: curried mouse, garlic and butter
mouse, mouse sauteed in its own fur, Salisbury mouse,
mouse-in-the-trap, baked in the very trap that killed it,
mouse tartare, mouse poached in menstrual blood at the full
of the moon . . . 

  Twenty years of this, eating their way through the
mice . . . And yet, not to forget, each night, one less vermin
in the world . . . 

Added: 18 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 5 Sep 2008 10:38 AM | Viewed: 2694 times

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