Requiem for the rat in our office wall

He's been lying in repose about three weeks
Since his empty stench began to laminate the room
And, in spite of all the bleach we've sprayed, it reeks
As bad as always outside his stucco tomb.
 
I wonder did they pray for him at all
In little mourning suits, or do they play the violin 
As his spectre haunts us through the wall -
Occupying it like hell is occupied by sin.

Did anybody miss him when he passed
Or were they simply pleased with extra space? 
I doubt we'll really miss him when at last
His mortal coil has shuffled off this place.

Perhaps he's left behind some money or belongings
For his children or a widowed wife,
Like bits of cheese or fruit or diamond rings;
Whatever trinkets are the remnants of his life.   
 
But what a eulogy he's had - an often mentioned odour
And wishes for a quick decay. 
But should we really hope for any more though?  
Perhaps it's somehow fitting that we end up much the same.

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