Poem by Norbert Hirschhorn

Bat As Metaphor

I thought I’d sealed the house –

doors, eaves, screens, casements – safe

finally, but now

the bat has entered anyhow,

somehow.

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,

slamming it

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.

Comments

Norbert Hirschhorn said…

I'm thinking those two stanzas should be reversed. Rodin would smash a student's maquette, tell her to reassemble the work.

BAT AS METAPHOR

Times ago, a bat plunged in,
ricocheting wall to wall until I
trapped it with a metal tennis racquet,
slamming it
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.

I thought I’d sealed the house –
doors, eaves, screens, casements – safe
finally, but now
the bat has entered anyhow,
somehow.
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.

Sun Mar 13, 12:42:00 pm 2011

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