Mouse blood on the counter, mouse guts on the floors. Mother cried foul! How she sobbed and she shook, And looked at my father, that pitiful look. "Live traps it is! Now quick, with foodstuffs." Once again came a mouse, without knowing her fate. SNAP sprung the snare, and SQUEAK squealed the mouse, But to little avail! She was caught, without doubt. That unfortunate rodent, outside, then she reeled And said, facing father, "Now, wasn't that kind?" "Indeed," mused my dad, but said little else. He seemed to be waiting, and biding his time. We could tell it was her, by her white-speckled fur. Mom shouted some words, that might oughtn't be said. "That's it," yelled my father, "I've had well enough." "Tomorrow we set out our snap-traps again, And I think that we'll see, that mouse isn't so tough." Now Mom holds her tongue, and she closes her eyes. But tell me, oh please, what else can we do? Have mice in the house? Or worse! Give them food? #notchildrenspoemsbyrob05c Inspired by boredom on the light rail, and your poem evoking Conservative propaganda. Dad trapped it, regardless, and soon saw results: "Fine!" Shouted father, and stomped with a huff. The small cage was set, propped open with bait. Our mother, she took, with a spin of her heel, Sure enough, on the morrow, the mouse had returned—
​ Dad threw pots and pans! But they missed, and she fled. Mouse blood on the floor, now to no one's surprise.
That was awesome AND far closer to the reality we saw in our household. This poem, like all the others was inspire by real events. Also, I think you should totally post that under your tag and MORE of these. All shadow poems to my children's poems. That would be rad.