A Traitor's Wisdom

I sometimes walk the streets at night

and share the dark with those that bite.

This night’s excursion is, however,

of a sort that I have never

taken in my life to date.

Such murky thoughts I contemplate

as I pull tight my dark manteau

and note the animals below.

They scurry as my feet approach,

leaving their prey as I encroach

upon their sacred hunting grounds.

Surveying as I make my rounds,

the feeble lamplight tries to show

what gifts they leave me as they go:

a rotting apple cast aside,

a sparrow that has not yet died,

a cat whose days are far behind,

devoured by those she’d tried to find.

The cobbled trails strewn here and there

with remnants of the rodents’ fare,

a vast array of nature’s waste,

which tiny mouths would kill to taste.

Though quiet, I can hear them creep

around me in the shadows deep,

the tapping of their tiny paws

and protests of their hungry maws

as I deprive them of their meal,

which they must think I’ve come to steal.

“Fear not, poor creatures,” I console,

“the purpose of my grim patrol

Is not take your hard-earned feast.”

I stop, and play the vermin priest,

composing some unholy rites

to bless their rank and putrid bites.

The dark and towering buildings try,

but cannot pull my downward eye

from all the denizens beneath,

that gorge with long and greedy teeth,

their writhing tails dragged through the mud

amidst their hunt for swill and blood.

The carriages are long since parked

and storefronts fall silent and dark

as deep into the night I stride,

to find what surely hides inside.

My footsteps reach no human ear

as only creatures venture here

so late into the dismal night,

much to my furtive delight.

Some others are afraid of those

with matted fur and twitching nose

who rule when Sun’s dominion ends,

but I prefer to call them friends.

They feed on what we, thoughtless,

give and that which has not will to live,

subsisting on refuse and junk

and wasting not a single chunk.

I’ve learned such lessons in the dark

that cannot help but leave their mark,

from what to worry of and fear

to that which I must hold most dear.

My feet have learned what paths to roam,

my eyes to find their way back home,

but one that most these days have lost

is how to live at any cost.

I go now into infamy,

and if I fail, they’ll label me

a traitor and a gutless rake,

but I’ll not miss my chance to take

all that I have ever wanted.

While lesser men may well be daunted

or filled with withering regret,

I always take what I can get

and I can truly tell you that’s

a lesson I learned from the rats.