the good son

you look like someone
I used
to know, your mother
says to you
as you stop by to check
on the mice
problem.
so do you, you tell
her, handing her
a new bag of
traps and a pound of
uncut cheddar cheese.
you don't come around
much anymore
she says, trying to break
out into
tears, but can't seem
to muster the negative
energy to do so.
what's up with the mice,
you ask her, zipping your
coat up tight
around your chin.
what mice she says,
chasing one with
a broom as it prances
by with a few small
friends. I don't know
what you're talking
about. are you staying
for dinner, she says,
taking the traps
and cheese into
the kitchen. you watch
her cut the cheese
into small bits,
loading them onto
the traps, pulling
back the springs.
no thanks
you tell her, I've to get
going. heading over
to dad's house,
he's got a snake
problem in
the basement, bats
in the attic.