…it resembled the inscription
of the Egyptian cryptologist,
a cartographer’s worst nightmare –
spilled ink, worn more for wear than comfort,
the rhyme revered even then but not for long,
despite inclinations to the contrary and out of the ordinary

the rumpled cloth did look like a rat, I’ll grant you that,
but not enough to draw a throwing knife – and in such a confined space –
my God, who knows now which lines were intended to be what!

In the melee of the poem, one must always watch for
a snatch at the ballocks

Chagall 2019