The Rat

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)