Dead Rat

A quiet squeak, the last
Utterance of the little brown
Rat. I add him to the pile.
Already, the rats I hold
Have begun to decay--now
Slimy to touch, lifeless
And stiff, filling the air
With their thick odor,
Drawing more than a few
Flies. I breathe in their
Scent and savor it. I
Dangle one by its tail
Until the tail snaps and my
Rat falls with a splat.
They are my playthings,
Until it comes time
To sell them.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Vita, in the year 410 AD.