A POEM - WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE PECKING ORDER?

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE PECKING ORDER?
I’d gotten into the city around dusk,
Put back a small flask of whiskey
That didn’t taste like anything much,
And spent a few hours trying to get things done,
On a WiFi server that was just being expoited.
I met a few English boys and spoke with them,
About this and that,
And then thought I’d go out
And see what was what.
There were signs for a reggae bar,
And I’ve never minded reggae,
And generally liked a bar,
So I thought I’d give it a go.
Along the street, though, as I walked,
Rats just ran from everywhere,
Every nook, every corner, every open space.
I’d never seen so many rats in my life!
This was all well and good.
Rats could do whatever the hell they wanted,
As long as they stayed out of my way,
And these rats were very good about
Staying out of the way.
But what got me the most was when I saw a rat,
Just standing there by a bag of trash,
While a cat walked by.
I tried to speak with the cat,
I tried to tell it,
“hey, there’s a rat over there, go get it,”
But the little feline fuck wouldn’t hear me out.
So I tried to explain to it,
“that’s a rat. That’s your arch enemy.
Your rival. You were born to chase those fuckers!”
The cat still just strutted past,
Didn’t give a shit.
“what the hell is wrong with these creatures?”
I wondered, as I continued walking along.
Then I came to another rat,
A less timid one.
He was digging into some trash
And I watched from a distance at first.
Then another cat approached,
And I thought, “all right, this is it. Get that fucker!”
I just wanted to see some action,
A chase, or at least something!
Maybe it was the man in me, or the American in me.
The cat walked up,
Right beside the rat,
And began digging into the same mess,
Like he was helping him out,
Like they were two pals who’d partnered up.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” I shouted,
Which apparently scared them both enough,
To run and hide under the same closed up food stand.
I stood waiting, hoping to see,
at least hear a fight, but nothing.
It was like all the animals here,
They were too lazy to be bothered.
They’d given up their loyalties to their own species,
And formed some brotherhood.
There was too much food lying around already,
For them to go after each other.
I came to the bar and it was closed
And then I began walking home.
At the end of the street
There was a dog.
And I mean, this fucking dog couldn’t be bothered.
In its wildest dreams it had never chased a cat,
Or even trotted after one.
Maybe it’s just America, I wondered.
Maybe it’s just at home we like to fight
And see the action and see the guts and the glory.