In between stopping for snowfall
and watching the feral cat
peek under the patio wall,
I become obsessed with rodents,
just like I was the summer
my parents raised hamsters
for spending money.
The hamsters kept us company,
my sister and brother took me
along on the feeding chores,
who knew rats ate kibble?
My brother, who studied their habits,
saved his peas and carrots
in a folded napkin,
parceled it out
between the 42 cages.
He begged me and Sissy
to donate our vegetables
to the cause but I loved peas,
she loved carrots.

My children were denied
the pleasures of keeping
rodents, oh, they pleaded
for a gerbil like Susie
down the street.
Once my youngest brought
the classroom guinea pig home,
I swept out oak leaves
and acorns for days after.
I haven’t yet found a study
on the effects of rat deprivation
in children of divorced parents,
but I am sure
the lack of hamsters
is to blame for the rodent obsession
my adult children display.
My fifth child (3rd son)
 is a confirmed Pied Piper
which accounts for all
the rodent sightings on my porch.

The chipmunk scurries
across the back yard
in search of pine nuts and maple leaves
while the squirrel surveys
the grounds from his perch
on the privacy fence,
the porcupine shows up
only in my dreams,
much like guinea pigs
and beavers,
the occasional kangaroo rat,
hands in pouch,
sighing.