Bat As Metaphor
I thought I’d sealed the house –
doors, eaves, screens, casements – safe
finally, but now
the bat has entered anyhow,
It squats on my bookshelf in
moveless flight, zombie-eyed,
icepick teeth, porcine snout. Ultrasonic
screaks pierce the air. I can’t
get it out.
Times ago, a bat plunged in,
ricocheting wall to wall until I
trapped it with a metal tennis racquet,
again, again again again,
running to get gardeners’ gloves, gorge
rising in my throat, finally
throwing a towel over the twitching carcass, in
remembrance of a
love gone foul, because it was.
poem by Norbert Hirschorn. Published online with permission of the author.