The Rats of Patzcuaro

There are no rats

you can mistake for mice

on the following pages

None you can call whiskery

furry little things pushing into sight

None that evoke elemental commiseration

None working tirelessly for science

& the betterment of mankind

Say mellifluous hosannas please if you will

There are none that will conjure

a heartfelt ratty sentiment

There are none you can look at with consolation

There are none that will force you

to make academic allowance

for their unlikely longevity

There are none that will stoop you

in impromptu appreciation

for the interdictory codicil that surfaces

nanoseconds

before your gnashing encounter

is finally finally finally

going to go down

thank god as per usual

You will not undergo an experience

that ultimately commingles

with essence

to form an analgesic

a syrupy redemption

a potion that transmutes acumen

into sagacity

If you’ve brought empathy of any kind

& a plan to spend it

in the world of rats

I’m pissed

for abso-fucking-lutely sure pissed

but the urge toward redemption

is a powerful agency

& one I am grudgingly

too cognizant of

If you’ve brought an eye for nuance

& plan to rat around

for subtle music or double entendres

don’t bother

I’ve scrubbed these declaratives clean

burrowed beneath the alphabet

& battered the morphemes

Consider this a bar code

an early example of a bar code

the prototypical bar code

a disorderly uninterruptible string of lines

glued to the side

of an empty lozenge tin

You may be thinking

you’ll be delighted with foreign rats

worthy of special scrutiny

Mesoamerican rats

south of the border rats

but expect no Nahuatl

Huichol or Tzotzil to be uttered

by way of indigenous gloss

& do not take it upon yourself to wander into dialectic

One thing is clear

No is the only number in these parts

You’ll find brief mention

of offspring & progenitors

Actually this is it

I incorporate such

not to lull you into subjective reciprocity

but rather

because there are always

offspring & progenitors

small rats

plopping out of large rats

Population control is work

of a different sort

There are potted begonias too

but they don’t really enter into it

unless there is abject hunger

There are no bells though there is a whistle

a wooden whistle

actually more in the manner of a Mayan pipe

an order of harmony corded together

top & bottom

a waxy & colorful cord

with finely wrought knots

the functional art of a distressed community

I allude to it

to please my wife

for I swore an oath to lean hard

real hard

toward inclusivity

as we drove passionately down the boulevard

It is the sound

of an itinerant knife sharpener

advertising his whetstone

in the rural distances

beyond my laurels & oleander

Yet do not anticipate country rats

There are no rats who dream of praise

as they grub into corncribs

There are no loping or striding rats

nor rats bearing the initial of informed consent

into the new rat world

There are no cutely monikered rats

nor rats living comfortably as former rats

under the witness protection program

far from the empire of rats

& the forces that originally conscripted them

There are no mythic rats

rats acceptable to the wee ones who flute off

tumbling toward comfy slumber

taught to believe

you can lead evil out into a field

& forget it

There

In fact there are no rats here at all

There are no rats save

the vermin that snuck in with you

balled under an armpit

stuffed

in your pant leg

in a false pocket

stitched into your satchel

snuck in they did against my express desire

I must reiterate

against my due diligence

To hell with your ingenuity

with your perspicacity

To hell with your scurrying grey intelligences