[The second installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st]
"Bettor Mousetrap"
Rupert Daugherty
I had nothing against that there monster
And didn't much care what it'd done to anyone in Grantwood.
I just wanted to prove myself to my brother Willie.
But he laughed when I said I was gonna be the one to catch
the thing.
He teased me about me hunting abilities, as always,
Saying the only thing I'd ever caught in my thirty-five years
Was a bad case of crabs from that skank Rebecca Lancaster.
Chafed, I asked Willie if he cared to make things interestin',
And he certainly did, so we made our wager.
From there I got to thinking about the monster's reported peeping,
About how night and quiet seemed to be its closest allies.
I built my trap out of two layered squares of tarpaper that trailed
Tin cans on a string like the car bumper of a just-married couple.
Then I set everything at the foot of Rebecca's bedroom window,
Figuring that she walked around at least half-naked most o' the time.
Well, tonight the monster stepped right up for a gander,
And ended up netted not long after when it clattered away.
Now I'm hailed as a hero as the townsfolk march through the streets;
Their appreciation's gratifying, but what I'm looking forward to
Is setting down to a plateful of lobster over at The Woodstove.
Yessiree, I can't help anticipating feasting on the pricey dinner,
Knowing Willie'll be seated across from me eating nothing but crow.
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