A Mouse Died
- I just found this on an old website of mine. Actually, I’d completely forgotten I even had another website, so this came as quite a surprise. Anyway, here you go:
Tonight I lost a friend and I feel ill
Tonight, while doing research for my final poetry submission, I noticed a little mouse creep up beside me. It died, slowly, and inspired the following poetry. I first wrote sixteen separate poems, but have combined them here to form one with sixteen parts.
A mouse creeped up to me this evening,
And sat on the carpet until I looked at it.
I do not know if it is a boy or a girl
But what I do know is that it is small and cute,
And that it sat there for a while, cleaning itself.
I clucked a little (I did not want to wake up my guest next door)
And then ticked, and then sucked through my teeth, but this had no effect.
It continued to clean itself, without noticing me.
I spat,
And just missed, right next to it.
Still it did not go anywhere.
Then I continued working, checking for it every now and again.
Some people are afraid of little mice, but I was not.
It did not bite me, it did not come close, all it did was sit.
Soon enough I saw it fall over and get up. It was dizzy.
Perhaps it had been poisoned, or perhaps it was just its time to go.
I looked at it struggle for a while,
Then rolled over and pushed a Styrofoam block down on it and watched it’s little legs flip about in a mad panic.
I stopped, mortified, and watched it get up again.
Then it fell, scraped, and fell, then sat on its haunches.
Now it lies next to me.
Hold on…
…No, it is not dead yet. It is turning in circles.
I wonder if it is trying to communicate. Perhaps it wants me to feel its pain.
But I cannot, for I am a human, I have homework, I must deal with my grandmother in the morning, and I shall not allow the death of a little mouse to affect me. This poem must end before it does, for otherwise the record will be wrong.
It lives.
2
A stretch or two,
You look awake,
It’s a long sleep
You’re going to take,
If I were you,
I’d take my rest
And stop your feet
To die is best.
I hit you every now and then,
Just to make sure you live
You do, but what a life down there,
Hit by the only thing that knows you’re there
I hit you even harder this time,
And you let out a squeak.
Just a little one, but it ripped me in two.
What kind of heartless thing do I have to be to hit something that is about to die?
And would god understand?
Beat, beat, beat, beat, about 80bpm
Twitch a little, lose the heat,
I see your end
If men get an erection when they die
And others shit themselves,
What am I to expect here,
Out of my new and short-lived friend?
I breathed on you, and all your limbs lit up.
Surely my breath aint so bad,
That you would be more scared of it than
Death?
Why, when it is obviously going to die, must the mouse scratch his head so? Every time I come near it’s like he’s saying “NO! NOT YET!”
Hold on…
It twitches, circles, and falls over. Will it not DIE!?
I have moved it closer so it will not feel alone. Not yet.
It’s taking harder and harder breaths to make you move.
I think you’re getting bored.
But if I stop you’re sure to lose.
Your score.
A morbid fascination isn’t something I normally have.
I do own the book of death, but that’s ordinary. I didn’t write it.
However, I wonder what people will say when reading this;
“Why didn’t you kill the mouse?”
“Why didn’t you feed it?”
“Where are your morals?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You need to call the exterminator.”
“You need to seek a therapist.”
“You should never watch something die, not before your time.”
But what I want to know is,
“What would be important about this death if I didn’t watch it?”
A hiccup is one of those things,
That people do when they have either eaten too much food
Or drank too much wine
Or thought of something they shouldn’t say.
Why would a mouse do it before it dies?
The power I hold is one built on the tension of knowing that I will lose it as you lose your life.
That’s not very fair.
I can actually feel a little pain in my heart, every time I look at you,
And yet you have no idea that you are not dying alone.
Of course, tomorrow you’ll be “vermin.”
This time I breathed on you, and your little legs when flying up in the air, scratching this and that, and your head was cocked, and when you came to rest at the end of it all I could see your little heart beating and your lungs going in and out with all the effort.
And I saw that you are still alive
And I was glad, but then you lay again.
And even if I bring you food and water, I will never get you up.
Unless you are epileptic,
Or just acting.
You scratch behind your ears about every minute or two.
Scratch scratch!
Scratch scratch!
I wonder if Disney should be informed.
You made me shiver.
That serves me right.
I will dream of death
When you and I are night.
You shook your tail seven times against the floor
I turned and you shook again.
Seven times the knocks your tail and paws
To rest, and death, they came
I do not want to go to sleep
And miss your second greatest achievement
Because this is the only time you deserve to be known
Strewn dirtily on the wooden floor, bringing in your germs,
Making my night troubled, probably.
Die, you little bastard, or I will drown you.
Ok, I know that is not the truth,
I will help you out some other way.
I will leave, and you can die alone.
Leave.
I pushed back my chair to go to sleep.
At that precise moment you died.
For when I checked
You were dead.
Goodbye,
mouse
