Slew a mouse tonight —
he appeared when I moved
a pile of papers — stood there,
tiny, gray-brown, unblinking —
slew him, brought a bottle
of cleaning fluid down hard —
he bled, twitched, was still dying
when I tossed him off the back porch —
so small, seemed so surprised
to see me — slew him fast, disposed
of him at once. Had
no second thought about it.
How could I when I never
had a first thought about it?
Dark Matter 
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