On The Eating Of Mice

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 . . .

by Russell Edson

Comments (3)

In some part of India they do eat mouse....Nice poem.
Well, that certainly destroyed every last single desire to eat that I had, how about you? It has its humor but I just lost the desire to giggle for some reason.
plain jane living aint the thang, give me the vine, devine opine.set to nine, millimeter.