Mouse
Alerted by the noise,
the unmistakeable
sound of victory,
Growling, howling, crying, mewling,
of his voices
mixed together.
Whether pleased with himself
or ashamed of
what he’s done,
The hunter stands defiant
astride the tiny
bloody body.
Chased away, scolded, shouted at,
he makes a quick
escape,
leaving
his trophy
To renew his hunt out in the field,
driven by his nature,
a
feral instinct to track and pounce
upon
creatures smaller than himself,
To eat some warmer, living food.
Meanwhile, prey discarded,
Eyes glittering in terror,
Its body still
warm,
snout
and tail intact,
mangled
limb, gory gash exposed,
life-force
seemingly expired,
Lies inert beneath the table.
Left alone for but a moment
while collecting
kitchen paper,
rubber
gloves, dust-pan, disinfectant,
paraphernalia
of removal and disposal
of
a corpse unwanted
Intended for a bin, not a burial.
But the deathplace now deserted,
the body gone,
disappeared
elsewhere,
smears
of blood and body fluids,
shining,
wet and fresh,
Crawled away in agony and fear,
to hide and
tremble
in
place unknown
to
look out, spying upon the world,
Watching and waiting,
for a slow and
lingering demise.
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