It's Not Me Who's Crazy
(it's those damned rats)

It happened like this:
They were there
on the table. (No, I didn't imagine
them again.)And no, I didn't see
their eyes; they panic-flee
if they know I've seen them.
I watched without looking -

daring devils loafed about
on the kitchen table, plumped their young
with our pumpernickel. I just let them
swell their bellies full as I whistled
around them, wiped the dishes,
swept up crumbs, pretended
they weren't there. Yes, all was well.

It was the mockery that corrupted
my nonchalance, in peripheral-glance
I saw them roll around the runner, point
spiky toes toward me as they giggled
and gorged; laughed till they cried -
too teary-eyed to see me
slip the slugs into the barrel.
Anyhow, that's how all those holes
got in the floors and walls.