Mother’s Day
Who would have thought
we’d see a tail?
But there it was, this morning,
sticking out of the Home Defense
trap under the television –
the one that promised
we’d never have to see or touch
the first thing I’d killed
bigger than a fly. I asked
my husband, who pried it open,
what it looked like, dead –
the little creature who’d been
dodging us, darting across the room,
ducking behind a curtain or
a pile of books, the dog not bothering
to bark or even open her eyes.
Apparently, it was a black lump,
with a long tail.
“Tail?” the dog said, alert. “Did I
hear something about a tail?”
Through the window, a gnarl on the oak
looks like the face of Porky Pig.
Mickey’s in the trash. A new trap
awaits his brothers – or his mother.
Irene Willis
In memoriam, Maxine Kumin, whose poem about killing a
woodchuck is known to many – and who was kind enough to
say of this, “I like it a lot.”