A rodent’s trapped beneath my basement,
Its claws tapping out a statement of impatience,
enticed within by Bateman,
it scrats the walls with nauseous vibrations.

A skittering exertion, claws scrape into cold foundation,
the sickly scent of vermin seeps like oil in bourbon,
a gristle glob gnawed covertly by the curtains.

A tail flicks, a whisker twitch, the stare of bodies in a ditch,
its squeaking symphony at fever pitch,
I grasp and grab to scratch the itch.

A chilling cry, a rending tear,
the rat breaks through the outer layer,
my viscera its evening wear.

I try to meet its sunken glare,
as shadows cast a velvet snare,
it slinks obtuse behind a chair.

I am trapped.

The rat; still there.