Bats that came with the house
Obvious, it seems to you, their mouselike
Bodies dig and ratchet, gain rabid access
Ogle sonically the misfit window frame
Nighttime when in helpless longitude you dream
Fang at you under the hairline leaving an itch
Beads of foam string from your mouth and water terrifies
So will it be, the first you suspect of it
Killing yourself over grips relaxed and setbacks
Amnestyville horror after forty years of error
Isn’t it the same little camera lens, and isn’t it time you
Shake the cobwebs and the pinkeye and admit the spying
Urge forgetfulness of God, whose over-the-shoulder glance at you
Says heart attack
Too bad, or more in keeping with the drone of you, who cares?
Oh ho! Who does, who does, why aren’t these words
Bye-byes, if not your bio, why aren’t you gone…?
Hey there! Say there! Adios!
Still you want solutions mooted and shot down by you
The bats, let’s have them recur, without immunity
Smog, was it not seventies smog, that kept their tiny lungs pure?
(2019, Stephanie Foster)