Alan: In the fall, the white-footed mice come into the house, seeking warmth and crumbs. Until I found a reliable live-trap, I would set snap-traps before bed, then lie awake waiting – and not wanting – to hear the snap.
Released
I release the trap,
dropping the dead mouse
at the edge of the clearing
where it will be found
by a crow or fox.
I release the trap,
dropping the mouse
that was too quick
and so is maimed
with one eye bulging and milky
and a crushed jaw
but is not yet dead
next to the house
where it takes a sideways hop
and sits curled on itself
in the frost.
Ah, mice!
The sun strikes
the big spruce tree
shaped like a pagoda.
Nancy: Deer season, and all the talk is pounds and antlers (“racks”); time for bragging rights, show and tell and mincemeat pies with venison.
Yearly Event
It may well be the biggest buck
in town, feet out one side of the trunk,
head wedged, rack well displayed
out the other.
It’s on tour. Casual. Just happened the wife
needed milk from Buddy’s store.
Everybody needs something from Buddy’s store;
there’s a parade of pickups.
That deer’s going to just happen
to stop a dozen times today. Every time
it’s like honey; men cluster around the trunk.
Sometimes they touch the deer.
The way they hang deer here
is on ladders, leaned up against the porch.
They hang them by the front door. This week
the town is full of deer driving around,
and men counting points, keeping score.
