The Nine-Eleven Rat


I could be that man too. I was not far.
I could be that man too. I was not far.

The Nine-Eleven Rat
Every year today
A rat wiggles out
In the middle of the day
Brown and kinda gray

It greets the solemn world
In a semi-observed
Without hullabaloo
Festoon or banner
Like, our Punxsutawney Phil
or Chuck the winter hog
Which is a big deal
But the rat has no name
Pedigree or fame
The mayor doesn’t pick it
Holds in lap to lick it
Media do not gather
It’s forgettable, rather
It’s nobody’s no bliss
Obviously therefore
There’s no hugs no kiss
The rat, gray and brown
A little silly, I suppose
In its own fray and frown
I’d even propose
as if philosophical
Stupid lackadaisical
Politically in error
Don’t it have no mirror?
It gets on its way
Every single year
On this sanctimonious day
Travels subway gutters
Gosh, Murmurs and mutters
In the middle of the day
When the world is in pray
We now call it the Nine-Eleven rat
That’s all it deserves
And we’ll leave it at that


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