His type is a rat—a dirty rat.

He scurries along each day’s path,

Gnawing me, pawing me.

If he’d just let me be.

 ~

I allow him to antagonize,

But I turn from his tiny eyes.

Rarely seen without briefcase,

A phony smile, a mousy face.

 ~

Scratching his way to the top,

When the boss shouts, he hops.

He falls, then claws higher

Upon fellows’ backs—as a pyre.

 ~

I’d poison his kindred kind;

That’s what I’d do in my mind.

Does that make me bad

To think so unkindly of poor dad?

~

           by S.A. Bort / 2 October 2014

photo from:

http://www.dome-land.com/ratking-goes-wiki-dude/

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