Killing Animals

I set up a plastic mouse trap and left the house.
When I came back, I’d caught one. The trap
hadn’t even broken the skin, but the mouse
was dead and I was grateful for the bloodless
counter top and the peaceful look on the mouse’s
face when I dropped him into the trash can.
He still had a peanut in his mouth.

If I should ever have to kill a man, I hope
it will happen the same way: bloodless
and quick, no visible injuries, an open
casket funeral, and a look on his face
that made it seem possible I’d just done him
a great charity–that I’d taken him before
his life got any worse, before he could do
whatever it was I had to kill him for
trying to do–hope still shining in his eyes.