That the markers, rethinking the portrait they drew,
(having made you too wide and too fat, muttered ew!
wideness and fatness in rats wouldn’t do!)
in the middle of trying their best to construe
the pure essence they sought to bring full into view,
decided to cut out the center of you,
and then sketch in that lady in back, lent no clue
what to make of this less than spectacular spew
that this Portrait of Artist as Rodent came through
to reveal. To what was this mis-markered art being true?
Did the markers do this on their own? Very few
of the rats we subjected to this interview
could communicate anything we understood.
Only one rodent muttered while chewing on wood
it was clear as the mud was in his neighborhood
that those maladroit markers were up to no good.
But who wielded those markers? I asked cautiously.
Whoever had done this, it can’t have been me.
The mutterer answered, if I didn’t know, how could he?
I face the same locked door. I still lack the key.