Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'Rootless' by Jennifer Matthews | Page 18

Pest

You were a timid flatmate
winter-huddled and crouched
in a dark corner
hands fidgeting, eyes watering
waiting for me to go.
I was advised our relationship
was unhealthy,
my keeping you as a pet.
You’d mistaken my crumbs
for sympathy; I hid my food.
I’d mistaken your peek in the room
for a greeting; you scrambled
retreat.
It was clear you’d never leave
so I set the latch to wood,
queasy when it flapped back
and nipped my fingertips
‘til I could commit
to the necessary force for a trap.
For two nights, you rejected homely
dinners of cheese and peanut butter.
On the third I tried seduction –
a chocolate square, caramel oozing
around the hidden spike.
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