Mouse Story
Dinner
is in the microwave
and we stand around
in the kitchen
waiting.
She says
the other nurses
at the hospital
really liked my mouse
story.
She has told them
how I was able to squash
the skull
of a scurrying mouse
with a broom
handle.
I don’t even like
the mouse story.
A moment of rage
and weakness,
nothing more.
The impulse of a coward
acted upon.
Those nurses at the hospital
are a really fucked up
bunch.
Too much blood and gore
and death.
They are all licensed killers,
married to licensed killers;
to cops.
They love to be regaled
with tales of dismemberment
and floggings.
The nurses at the hospital
are actually turned on
by death.
Must be some left over
caveman thing.
They probably think of me
bare-chested
on the hunt
slaying mighty beasts
with my club.
I run down to the basement
look out my Louisville
Slugger.
I’d hate to disappoint
them.