You know me. You’ve never known me. You’ve seen me before.

I am the rat under your manhole cover.

What is your manhole cover?

It is your innermost thought, your deepest secret.

Your manhole cover is your front door.

I see the crumbs you leave.

You’ve left flecks of Cheerios, bits of muffin.

One day you leave an entire orange slice under your desk.

You’ve been spending a lot of time at your desk lately.

I am the rat under your manhole cover.

Sometimes you leave. Never for long.

You close the door like something’s chasing you.

You skitter like me.

I’ve been chased before.

I am the rat under your manhole cover.

But I wasn’t always here.

I wasn’t always alone.

I lived off the generosity of others.

I didn’t always shun the light.

The cover clangs when someone treads above.

It’s cold and round. It rains musty droplets onto me.

It doesn’t hide a secret passage.

It hides no tunnel, no damp corridor.

It only goes to me.

The Platonic Form of the manhole cover via Wikimedia Commons