in the park the park at night

In The Park at Night.

The town’s lake a manmade island with a tiny house
built for the rare black swan, but as swans are colour
blind to be black doesn’t mean a thing so they nests
where it suits the best. In the cellar, of the café, in
the park, rats eek a living selling empty bottles of
wine, with angst sweaty finger marks on, lick foam
of empty beer kegs while the listen to the music and
subbing feet of dancers overhead, and do ratty things,
till light comes on and the cellar man cometh, knows
they are there so he whistle a song while bring more
empty bottles and kegs to lick foam off. The rodents
know well and have told their offspring, that, if he
catches them, they will his dinner, for under the fur
of every rat, the skin is mouth-wateringly pink