Menace in the Slums

The fool works at his daily duties
Sweeping, cleaning things
But in the lowest places he works
Ears are at the ready

A drunken slob comes stumbling in
Making new messes for him
He falls into a chair and calls
For more drunkenness

The barman joins him and in loud tones
They make good sport of the fool
But soon they're off in their own little world
The fool sweeps near to listen

From the slums they'd both come from
And each had tales to tell
Of a strange dark figure, caked in mud
Tormenting all who passes

No one knows if it's creature or man
But a right good mess it's made
The streets, they said, used to be safe to walk
Now you'll never know

The fool left them quite irked at it all
No matter what this creature was
It couldn't have aught to do with his foe
This menace of the drunks.


Next Week: Held Back