Mouse

by Jesse Glass
 
	    in a trap
	while we slept

	white belly
	    that crept
	over kitchen floors
	eyes
	staring
	    down
	    a cold night

	the coveted
	    shards
	of corn chip
	split by
	thumbnail

	    tripped
	the metal
	pedal
	of doom

	    -we most solemnly
		   entomb-

	strong legs
	hinged
	for a leap
	(leap no more)

	    & the fine brown
	    hair
	    fit for lady's
	    wear

	    invites
	a melodrama:

	    -Call for Tourneur's
	    heavy line
	    (if not Marlowe's
		             own)


	    -& Call for a matchbox
	    a garden trowel
	a leveling instep
	    for the Over-Reacher-


	& soft transition
	    for intrepid jaws
	in this harvest 
	    weather.  

 2002 by Jesse Glass. All rights reserved.
Home