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Death was quick, I hope.
The grey fur and white belly flattened
while scrounging for a dab of peanut butter bait.
The jaws of the trap snapped its spine instantly.
But this is my house I scramble to work for.
Mice are not welcome here, their droppings speckling the floor.
Still, a shiver of compassion runs down my back
as I shake the mouse from the trap into a plastic bag.
Carrying the weightless shrouded body to the trash
I catch my grizzled reflection in the mirror.