More Mice

Poem By Cynthia Gallaher

There were more mice, and more mice,
and more and more mice,
and by midnight, there were close to a hundred,
slidin’ and skatin’ on the waxed wood floor,
as if someone loosed
a bucket of iggy marbles.

It was four below zero,
You could feel it clear through the porch hole,
grown big enough to run a baseball bat,
the corner where their sharp teeth
had taken turns chewin’ through paint and plaster board.

From my bed, they sound like a flock of loons
landing on shore,
squabbling and
hunting for minnows,
but those furry critters
found Cheetos, hot cocoa mix,
pizza flour and shortening,
a city mouse feast
in our shingle cottage pleat,
on the outskirts of town,
making themselves right at home
at the rural, resort edge
of leisure-mouse living.

My husband Harlan bought
a sack of piping hot doughnuts,
upended and stacked them
old tires on the front lawn,
luring mice
to the steaming sweetness.

It took more than a morning
of canvas tarp knots and Sakrete to plug that hole;
never heard from those varmints again.

Comments about More Mice

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of GALLAHER

The Rages Of Garlic Is Love

Garlic, you poser,
you snowy-hearted non-participant,
lying languid in the pantry
like a cold-shouldered bimbo next to old onion.


They are the clowder of panthers
that fled the jungle as cubs,
traveled north to the Lower Nile,
and swore never to grow up,

Shabbona Swimming Pool

I feel warmth
from hot water pipes,
as I lean against the wall
to pull up my swimsuit.