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On The Eating Of Mice

Rating: 4.3

A woman prepared a mouse for her husband's dinner,
roasting it with a blueberry in its mouth.

At table he uses a dentist's pick and a surgeon's scalpel,
bending over the tiny roastling with a jeweler's loupe . . .

Twenty years of this: curried mouse, garlic and butter
mouse, mouse sauteed in its own fur, Salisbury mouse,
mouse-in-the-trap, baked in the very trap that killed it,
mouse tartare, mouse poached in menstrual blood at the full

of the moon . . .
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
M Asim Nehal 04 February 2016

In some part of India they do eat mouse....Nice poem.

0 0 Reply
Susan Williams 03 February 2016

Well, that certainly destroyed every last single desire to eat that I had, how about you? It has its humor but I just lost the desire to giggle for some reason.

15 0 Reply
Chris Bowen 08 February 2008

plain jane living aint the thang, give me the vine, devine opine.set to nine, millimeter.

0 0 Reply