Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

Dead Rat

Flies gathered around its tiny body,

Its feet turned toward the sky

As if preparing to continue the

Never-ending rat race among the clouds.


People walk past and turn up their noses.

The only good rat is a

Dead rat, but why?


They exist just like us, their little hearts

Pumping just as fast as ours.

They scurry from place to place, ducking between

Giant metal behemoths in pursuit

Of a noble quest they will never fulfil.


They love like we do;

They love their family and friends.

Hell, they might even have jobs like us

And our everlasting 9-5 workdays.


Yes, they’re rodents and inherently inferior

But we all know

The rat did not deserve to die.

Neither do you or I.

deathsort of a metaphorrat racequestioningteenage bullshit

◄ Hit and Run

Understanding ►


Profile image

Stephen Gospage

Thu 23rd Mar 2023 21:32

A top class poem, Elle. Great read.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message