Death in the cutouts

August 13, 2013 § 4 Comments

Rats along the walls leaving
little tar pellets of poop and
long sticky streams of piss yellow piss and
that odor- Offensive!

How dare she have no control.
She sat at that table between all the toppling
piles of shit, trash and boxes with holes carved out from the rats
which took a vote and decided they’d show mercy and
Let her stay. As long you swear, said they, gathered around.

Okay I swear. Promise!
I promise not to poison you,
or step on you,
or your babies.

And the rat babies already knew it was a cruel world
with poison hidden in treats, still corners,
in streets between sheets-don’t go,
out into the open

Never, Never, Never-they’ll see you,
chase you, hunt you down-
Us down.
You’ll kill us all.

Granddad rat patrolling cutouts.
Doesn’t trust her. That women.
Watches her sitting there at that table-
always-He’ll die there.
They all will.


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§ 4 Responses to Death in the cutouts

  • Reminds of those hoarding shows on TV … some of their houses are putrid. The harsh tone of the first stanza really captures the emotion of the writer’s disgust of the poem’s focus. Thanks for sharing.

    • JoeyTodd says:

      I’ve always been fascinated with those people. Thanks for commenting! It means a lot to me.

      • My wife loves the shows too, even got the kids watching them now. Amazing how their minds work … as your poem touches on to us it is”putrid” but to them it is anything but.

      • JoeyTodd says:

        yes, exactly. To them it’s home, and that means something. They’re not any less significant-they have purpose-the purpose of getting me out of bed to deep clean my house. : )

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