There’s a dead rat in the flowerbed

Posted: April 17, 2012 in nature poems, urban poems

Its bloated body, white belly up,
is inert among the coming
poppies that will bleed for it.
Half the size of a cat, left

behind by the night where
this pagan black beast
was once king. The
yellowed Samurai sword

incisors will no longer
be bared ready to rip and
tear creatures, bin bags.
In death stance it has been

caught by the morning light,
but its sleek black back and
steel-whipped tail still has
the power to chill my blood.

  1. claudia says:

    …and maybe even more than when it was still alive..ugh…and now i know what you meant with your comment…i don’t wanna suck that up…def. not…shivers..

  2. brian miller says:

    i imagine it does…eww….smiles….love the alliteration in that last stanza it does well to set up your close…some really nice touches in this…

  3. colleen says:

    I was mesmerized … and a little terrorized seeing that thing with you as you described it. I love the idea of the red poppies bleeding and the line about the pagan black king.

  4. Gross! Not the poem, the dead rat! I found one under my deck last year–it was huge–after it started stinking. Was shining a flashlight through the gaps in the boards, and there were these dead eyes shining back at me. Dang! Probably could write a good poem about that, huh?
    Great write!

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