Saying shit I shouldn't since 1977.
Twice have I killed
a rat in my wife's
The first time was outdoors:
She said she would
Second time was in our kitchen:
She fell sobbing
on my breast.
The impact of these events
on the rats has yet
to be reckoned.
I would like to point out that this is NOT an autobiographical poem. Yes, Zach killed a rat last night, but my reaction was more of a: "EEW, gross" and then I went to bed.
Funny, I have a distinct memory of the phrase "I'm scared" repeated by someone. Must have been the baby.
Must have been. In any event, no tears were shed and I didn't go near you. For one thing, you were holding a big dead rat.
Which only goes to prove that an intelligent reader never confuses the dirty rat--I mean poet--with the speaker.Will link my pre-government-final twelth-graders to this post.
OK, Zach, we all know you have bravely defended home and hearth, but quit exaggerating - next it will be "Seven in one blow!"
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