Confession

Like every Saturday morning
I woke up hungry, a bit jaded and
Hoping to catch some leftovers
I ventured into my kitchenette
And lost my hunger at the sorry sight
Of a wearied mouse in a bucket of water
Tired from trying to climb out
It paused at my sight, bowed its head
For a moment, it bobbed up again
Our eyes met and locked
Its pleading eyes were unmistakable
No doubt begging to be rescued
I was moved to act, to save the unlucky mouse
I propmptly carried the bucked into the yard
And drained the water away slowly
At last the mouse was out, and save I hope
But she wasn’t, she could not be saved
She tried to run but could not
Her four legs could not carry her
She shivered, bubbled and swaggered sideways
She was going to die of cold, I think
My mind was turn into two
To leave her to fate or offer mercy killing
For a second I turned my back, to leave
Then saw a rock the size of a serving plate
Which I carried and slammed on the dying mouse
The mercy killing has been swiftly done
The rock: the weapon and the tombstone
I did not bother to check the corpse, or look back
I picked my empty bucket and marched inside.
In retrospect, I sat and looked back through the blinds
Knowing I would never find out
If the mouse would have survived
Had I not killed her.