Clare Pollard
Hamelin
Hamelin
This town needs rid of rats. They ruin
everything: thieving, feasting in bins,
their high shrieks, the shitty mess.
They scuttle like fingers on a keyboard:
plump, drain-sleek, a whisker of breath,
pitterpatter feet. Our high pitched whistle
has only driven them to darker places
to watch with twitching, clever faces,
tails swishing like fingers on a screen
sharing and sharing something sickening.
We must face the nature of the threat
and extend the powers of the catcher.
Think of ordinary families, the future,
your daughter upstairs in her bedroom
where the pale light pours like water.
When they’re gone even the mountains
will open their mouths as if in song.