Paul Revere by Cyrus Dallin, North End, Boston

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Sunday, June 9, 2013

Sunday Night Poetry



A Little Night Visitor

Italians call him pipestrello, in German, he’s fledermaus;
And it’s true bats are cruelly maligned.  I don’t care.  
Tonight he’s loose somewhere in my house.

Hell hath no horror worse than a bat flying,
from corner to corner and a woman, wildly panicked,
wielding a tennis racket over her head.

This is no operetta, his cries no sweet night music, 
but the echolating noise of a nocturnal flying mammal
who’s hanging from a ceiling beam over my bed.

All the windows are open, all the doors ajar
in hopes that he’ll fly, with some prodding, to a place far 
far away from here where all good bats dwell,
And away from the woman fleeing from him, 
like a bat outta hell.

                                                     --S.K.






4 comments:

Les Carpenter said...

:-) Such a cute creature and appropriate prose.

Infidel753 said...

Very vivid. Reading this, I thought that perhaps we should have named blog-comment harassers "bats" instead of "trolls".

Anonymous said...

Bats, cute and all, can carry rabies. Not often, but they can.

Getting them to fly out isn't easy. But when they're roosting, put on heavy gloves and gently remove and set free.

Great poem, BTW. Thanks.

FreeThinke said...

There's nothing I like more
Than how a darling bat
Echolates while on the fly,

As meanwhile on the floor
My darling pussy cat
Contemplates the ways to make it die.



};-)>