Nate the Great or a Fight I’m Having with My Husband Through Poetry
My husband, Nate, and I have had a mouse infestation in our house for about 6 months now. We’ve tried everything: traditional traps, electric traps, poison (don’t do that–seriously, dead mouse stink stays around for at least a month), plug-ins that are supposed to emit a noise that keeps mice away, glue traps (the most successful and the most gory). Long story short: I want to call professionals, and he insists on doing it himself.
One night after reading Green Eggs and Ham to my children, I went to my office to do some Exponent work and saw a mouse, which meant that I could not work in my office the rest of the night (ask Caroline…I was supposed to edit a piece for her. Instead, I sent her an email from my phone, “Sorry, I can’t do it tonight. There’s a mouse in my office, and I’m to scared to get my computer.”). So, I went to my room and composed this poem instead.
Nate is Great
Great is Nate
That Nate the Great
That Nate the Great
How I love that Nate the Great!
But he does not appreciate
My fear of mice and their mates*
I hate mice as they race
to corrupt, infest my space
Do they live inside the roof?
Yes, and they are not aloof.
Would you like them in your wall?
One died in there—quite the gall!
Crackers cookies, bread gnawed through
No wonder there is so much poo!
Would you like them eating fruit?
(They ate it all; the point is moot.)
Would you like them in the flour?
They chewed the lid with so much power!
In my closet, with such glee
I know they wait to devour me.
Would you like them in your bra?
Find poop there and shout, “Hurrah!”
Do you know they love my feathers?
Strew them with such obvious pleasure?
They live in walls and under chairs.
I swear they are the size of bears.
Nate the Great, dear Nate the Great
Now is the time: EXTERMINATE!
Clorox wipes have been divine
But, using them takes such time.
Think, (as I clean the poop and pee)
The Bubonic Plague came with their fleas.
Let’s kill them when they eat our fruit,
Let’s get rid of all that poop.
Out of flour, feathers, grains
Oh my gosh, they’re SUCH A PAIN!
In my bra, the roof, the wall
The mice believe they’ll conquer all.
But we can win, my dear, you’ll see
No need to feel we’re up a tree.
We’ll call a service that takes care
of this problem that makes friends scared.
They’ll come and plug holes mice have made.
When they do, let’s have a parade!
And others too will shout and cheer,
Perhaps even offer beer!
When you choose to obliterate
All our mice (with their mates).
*and their babies, too, 4-5 litters per year, scurrying around in the walls and attics, each dropping 25,000 dropping in their lifetime, but let’s not go there.
Have you ever had a minor issue with a spouse or loved one that neither of you will compromise on? And, you fight about it so much that you begin to wonder if it’s actually a fight about a much bigger issue?