Ah it sits there, bold as brass.
The rat in its element,
picking at the flesh that
sustains him. Oh scavenger!
Do you take pleasure in the
shackles placed on his hands?
Is the prospect of easy prey
appealing to you?
Your shrill screams of insults
are only to be echoed.
The fault is not his own.
You scream silence at him,
your foul reddened nose
twitching and your absurd
grey tartean fur
bristling as you rile yourself up.
As with clothes, you shed
your feelings, almost snakelike.
But you are not majestic, your
blood, when shed, runs deep, deep red.
his is why you're an outcast, no friends
apart from those who will sip
from the same vein.
Declan Barwell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conversation-with-a-rat/
