A Poem of a lost Soul

He would scuttle up the pathway every fortnight.
Knock. Knock knock,
I would sense the coded acoustics; a sly viper in the grass,
my claws clasped the knob. The door knob.
And in would slither the repulsive rat.

Slumping peculiarly on the mohair rug,
He attacked me…slammed my soul,
The badger-haired devil betrayed me; ensnared my mind as prey,
I pierced the pig with punishment. My blood cold.
Anger sept through my linen twin set.

Gone. He had escaped my ferocious wrath.
Prowling past the pork. Growl.
Aisle 17 and I combusted as I saw the demon
inspecting creations of Bonne Maman.
I pounced and landed like a dead ferret.

Humiliated. On the floor.

A husky voice delicately drifted through my passage.
A new member was found,
He retrieved me from misery; he defeated the diabolical enemy,
Now it is he who scuttles up the pathway,
Instead of the cockroach that dared to leave.