The rat of me

When I come back,
Newly reborn,
Soul sparkling in the light,
A life not freshly sinned,
I want to be a rat.
Sleek muscle under sleeker fur,
Eyes bright and sinuous tail,
A rat would be the life for me,
A rat not man for me.
I would be wise,
And chose to live,
In subways riding railway cars,
Where food is plentiful and free,
And better than most humans see.
They waste so much,
It’s clear to me,
They must love rats,
Or else they would eat less,
Or choose to give what’s left,
To their own poor.
Yes rat would be the life for me.
And I would run across the foot,
Of nice rich ladies,
Who’d scream my name,
Just to remind them of the fact,
That it’s souls not clothes,
That make the man.
For me I’d chose,
Grand Terminal’s caves,
Replete with oysters and fine cheese,
And sit atop an opal face munching,
And watching lives go to waste.
Lives lost in hurry,
Lost to haste,
Preforming tasks,
That humans hate.
Working to be grateful,
For a job,
Nor knowing that all such rush is waste.
So I will come back as a rat,
To smooth my fur,
In star coated calls.
For life is sweet,
When you’re a rat.



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