Small Memoriam - edit

[milo]

Hello

As a whole - for mechanics - it would be easy enough at this point now that you have chiseled the idea into shape - to remove the inversions and obvious padding for them to not be so distracting.  That being said - as a whole - I feel it could be doing more, or at least more interesting.  It feels like a solid enough sentiment in its own right but it cries out for a more interesting statement, a shock value, a turn - something more.  The bones are here and they are good.  In my opinion it needs something more to make it more interesting.

Of course, it is just my opinion, but I feel like there could be something more here

Thanks for posting

Small Memoriam


Can anyone feel such sincere regret
for acts which cannot be undone and yet
on balance had to be accomplished?  Pet
he was not, just a common long-tailed mouse
who got inside somehow...  but in my house
that smallest presence made me feel a louse
for plotting his demise.  He’d sit and view
computer movies ‘til I saw him, too,
then run when noticed.  Though I had a few
ideas how to catch him, nothing worked–
he’d lick the bait from traps but never jerked
them hard enough to trigger.  Still he lurked:
declined a private room (my live-catch trap),
approved noir cinema, left tiny crap
on pantry floors, chewed through chips’ Mylar wrap...

I see him from the corner of my eye–
his ghost, it must be, mouse that had to die.
And that is best for him and me, I lie.

original version;

It’s possible to feel sincere regret
for acts which cannot be undone and yet
on balance had to be accomplished.  Pet
he was not, just a common long-tailed mouse
who got inside somehow...  but in my house
companionable, made me feel a louse
for plotting his demise.  He’d sit and view
computer movies ‘til I saw him, too,
then run when noticed.  Though I had a few
ideas how to catch him, nothing worked -
he’d lick the bait from traps but never jerked
it hard enough to snap.  And still he lurked:
made my den his, disdained a live-catch trap,
watched DVDs with me, left tiny crap
on pantry floors, chewed through the Mylar wrap
of chips and croutons, showing his good taste.
I miss him now, for in my and his haste
for solitude and food we laid him waste.

I see him from the corner of my eye–
his ghost, it must be, mouse that had to die.
And that’s what’s best for him and me, I lie.

This is raw, little edited.  A sonnet and a half?