Shelter in the Dark

I tell (to death) a memory of a rat - big as a fucking pig
It swaggered between tables as if it owned the premises
I can't do anything but tell it (if not to death) to wall its room
It owned that grotty garden that fucking Sunday afternoon
Where it can shelter in the dark

I have a kitchenette - no toilet, yet - but shower, sofa, bed
The next rung is self-containment (must aspire). But who said
I'm not accommodating. I fought the mice into the floors
And if they stay there they can stay here; out of sight, out of my thoughts
They can shelter in the dark

The edges of my vision should be still - drifting with dreams
Not crawling with cockroaches. Quick, then still. Every beast
Should have a fear and dread of man. This - big as a fucking mouse
Still; steadily looking. I leap from sofa to bed; bleat

No - command - it: shelter in the dark. Let me sleep - like the mice
It tracks under my bed. That doesn't comfort. I've obliged
Its stolid claim on majesty, as I have flattered rats
But it should know it in its composition, antennae - from its

Armoured hind down to lowered, bullish head
It should know that it is flattened. I'm rattled. But
That's its only card - the rattling. That translates quickly to wrath
It should have lived inside the walls. Can only fall on the warpath