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rat catcher
Rat Catcher
I feel repulsed when he is near, I ought to have compassion
for this cripple, a twisted foot. an arm that does not
function as it should a beggar with scabby skin, eyes as black
as looking into the dark side of the wishing moon
this is not a man you can be kind to, the more you give him
the more he hats you and wishes you an early death.
His diversion is to follow funeral processions, but not into
the cemetery, no one wants him there
I have wondered why I dislike this cripple so much it must
be a memory of my childhood
After the war in Norway, there was hunger in the land
but I noticed the children, the children of the well-to-do
those who in later years suited men in politics
often threw away lunch boxes that their maid had packed
something they didn't like
There were many rats in the waste bin, so I had to be quick
before the rats found the food, one rat jumped up and tried
to take the lunch I held in my hand
The rat's eyes shone with loathing, it hated me for being
human, like the cripple who hates normal people too
and blame them for his hardship
In the knowledge he will hate me more, I give him
a few shillings when I see him, this dirty little man who
forsaken by his mother after he tried to sleep with her.
I fear him too, four black horses, clicking hoofs on
a pebbled road and he is the only mourner.
Copyright ©
Jan Hansen
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