My father sets traps to catch
Mice that encroach on the kitchen.
His favorite trick is to put a little piece of coconut
Inside the framed trap. The mice
Seem voracious for such a treat.
And I have seen him win some battles
And lose some. The trap would spring
Sometimes, without the mouse inside the cage
And those days I see him mutter is disbelief.
And on others he would catch
The mouse and he would take it
Far into the countryside
And let it lose around the jungles.
And he is now an old man of 68 years.
He has won most of his battles
With mice and life and still seeing him
Battle bouts of syncope, where he loses
His consciousness is never easy. I look at him
Sometimes, telling me what to do,
To which I nod my head and let go.
Its so easy to lose yourself in time.
You can wake up one day and 10 years
Have passed in a flash.
And the mouse was always a challenge for him.
And now I see him let go of everything
And slowly wilt, like an aged Sean Connery
Although with less persona,
And still I will remember him for the battles won.
For the only man who I know
Who never waved a white flag to a mouse.
That façade of not caving in, will stand by me
He holding a trap with a mouse inside
With a crisp smile on his face, as if
This was his moment of reckoning
And he had came off with flying colors
And every trap he set was for the love
Of a woman, who never let him
Inside the kitchen unless a mouse was there.
And it wasn’t always easy bribing
A mouse. It took stealth and planning.
He was the master planner who always
Had a blueprint even when I was going through my blues.
And through it all, he was unruffled
Like the rock on the cove that everything smashes to
And break apart. Nothing could break
Him, not even the fear of not knowing
When he will lose his consciousness next.
And every mouse was a plan, a battle
A watershed, a little education,
A little bonding moment.
And a nagging feeling, that I will
Never measure up to him.
After all my idea of a mouse is always
Next to a computer, a box in its
Own right that swallows me
For hours, and I like a fool petting
The mouse, I have no will to resist.
And a fur ball mouse, will always be his way
Of showing he cared. How freeing it must be
To let that mouse loose, to that place
Where I stockpile my cheeses.
And from time to time, I feel the mouse
Nibbling something deep inside,
Like a furry, big-eared, whiskered
Bundle of joy, marking her presence
Inside that chamber, that only knows
How to preserve the unconditionally cheesy
In the scrupulous deftness of love.