The Rodent. A poem for today
There’s a dead rat under me floorboards;
There’s a rodent corpse under the plank,
Advanced in its decomposition
The smell is decidedly rank.
I tried to find its location,
Small holes with a drill I did bore
But the only solution before me
Was to take up the whole feckin floor.
I didn’t want to put poison,
I didn’t want Ratty to die;
For a Rat, though humble and filthy
Has a right to life like you and I.
But if only he’d stay in the backyard
Or anywhere outside me door
For there’s none so bad as a hungry rat,
With teeth like a circular saw.
So, we’re stuck with the problem of odour;
I can’t see what else we should do.
Air fresheners and Airwick are no feckin use
‘Gainst a cross between Vomit and Poo.
Yet I do have one small consolation;
It’s a blessing in a daft kind of way
For I’d sooner a sack full of foul smelling rats
Than Donald Trump* any old day
Patrick Cogswell 2016
Insert any three syllable Bete Noir of your choice. E.g
- Tory Rule, ( Can’t think of any more just now)