The rat and I, we are like brothers. He,
with his knowledge of causes,
the elder, and my weakness
the burden he shoulders.
I see him in shadow, a drink
in his hand, retreating to his rooms
with a bad sandwich, slipping in
at all hours, his brown coat’s collar
turned up, somewhere between
a soldier and a criminal.
In the eyes of god and society,
which are the same eyes,
he's succeeded wildly, but not properly;
and one day, in the house
of his labor, he'll ingest the poison
of the family order, and everything
he's seen and heard me do
will die with him.