Tribute to a Mouse (on finding him dead in a press under the sink on the 12th of December 2005) by David Keeling
I'd write you an ode But I don't like the word ode So here's a tribute to you, Little mouse we found in the mousetrap this morning. Little mousie, As Robbie Burns might say, Though he had a Scottish accent And I don't. There you were, Tail rigid Upside down, The trap had snapped so hard it had flipped over. Snap. Snap, and you're dead. I guess I could die that fast. I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean, As Makem & Clancy might say, Though not about a mouse. Your little body squashed flat under that heavy bar, Not cleanly across the neck, Like a good mousetrap should, But across one of your shoulders, Like a safety belt. Snap. Your little spine crushed Like the toothpicks we keep on the shelf Just above where we found you, In the press beneath the sink. Snap. An inhumane mousetrap, My sister would say. Or is it inhuman? Human. Humane. It's a bit different. Is it inhuman to kill a mouse, Or just inhumane? You managed to nibble some of the cheese From the other mousetrap, It seems, Without getting caught And then moved on to the chocolate. Snap. I guess maybe you deserved it. Your just desserts, My brother called it, Holding you and your trap aloft, A tiny globule of urine On the trap. Where it falls mandrakes grow, As Beckett might say, Though it's not really the same thing. Snap. I guess your friend will die the same. I heard him scurrying by your Last Supper later today. Little bastards, my dad would call you. He set the trap again, Potato this time, I think. Trying to figure out what you like best. Now you're lying, Upside down or not, I don't know, In the wheelie bin outside. Didn't even give you a proper funeral, my mother said. Your safety belt clinging tight to you, With the rubbish. But at least there's this. You got more than most mice get, A longer epitaph than I'll get on my headstone. Yours is still buckled to your head. I couldn't let you go without something In your honour. No funeral, But a tribute, Like some sort of warrior mouse, Written in the back of my notebook. Happy Christmas.