The Best Laid Plans
First there were fleeting glimpses,
a dashing dark adventurer
across the kitchen floor.
Scuttlings and droppings
confirmed infestation –
a trap was set.
The three budding biochemists were grateful
it was just a mouse –
they’d worked with worse.
But one, smiling compliance,
crept down at night,
scuppered the plan with an upturned bowl,
left instead a midnight feast
of murine delicacies; soap, digestive biscuits,
Caught out when she slept in,
failed to reinstate
the status quo,
indulged by her housemates
with a tenderer trap and a ceremony,
miles away, to set Speedy free.
Now risen in the industry,
working mostly on stats,
from time to time, in tea breaks,
she’ll call on colleagues in the animal lab,
coo over cages of mice on carefully monitored menus,
and, when no-one’s watching, share her snacks.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ann Gibson would be
pleased to hear them.