I walk through the door, straight into the kitchen, where
Supper sizzles on the stove.
As I take the bag from the trash, you feed me a chicken-snack.
It burns my mouth slightly.
It’s hard to breathe in this heat –
A thick wet blanket of atmosphere.
“Just wait until winter!” I hear,
So I do and it is and there’s
Saran Wrap on the windows and
A mouse living under the sink.
It will chew through the humane trap,
Leaving me no choice but to kill it.
Its weight in my gloved hand, nauseous,
I will hope its last meal (a healthy dollop of peanut butter)
Was as nice or even more so than a chicken-snack.