Mouse and Me (a "lower standards" poem, I think)

I'm typing this poem with the same keyboard
that the mouse eats my peanuts on.
I have to turn it upside down
and sweep it with my hand to get
the little bits of red skins and shell powder
out of the keys so my "i" quits sticking.

I baited a trap with a peanut one night
and slipped it into an open bag of nuts.
I listened to him crack them open until
four in the morning when he got full
and ran back to whatever hole he's made.

I even saw him one night. He was standing
on the keyboard and saw me in my bedroom
doorway. He stood still and looked.
I could see he was glad to have this chance
to see what it was he always knew about
but only now had the comfort of meeting.
I could see he felt less afraid and ready
to make a life for himself here, and to lose it
when the force against him finally had its way.