by James McAuley

James McAuley

There was a pattering in the rafters, mother,
My dreams were troubled by the sounds above.
—That is just a young man's fancy, son,
Lightly turning now to thoughts of love.
I heard things moving in the cellar, mother,
And once I thought that something touched my side.
—Your father used to hear those noises, son,
About the time that I became a bride.
And when I woke up in the cold dawn, mother,
The rats had come and eaten my face away.
—Never mind, my son, you'll get another,
Your father he had several in his day.

Collected Poems 1936-1970

Last updated January 14, 2019