Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl

A Caseworker's Nightmare

In a corner of the room

scribbles of loose yarn soar,

interweave and dive

like coasters at a carnival.

At dusk rats slither from the drain

and barrel through the room

stirring atom puffs of dust

beneath the paper sprung

tongue out from each wall.

Tails wound tight, the rats

skate their figure eights

between the table legs and swirl.

They pause to supper on salami bits, 

gherkin nodes, crusts of ancient bread.

At dawn, with boysenberry eyes awhirl,

they belly back and leap atop the sink.

Popping sounds announce

the drain has called them home.

Donal Mahoney