Bats in the Attic

by Margaret Gillies Brown

First Published in 'The Lie of the Land' 2004


Springtime - hibernation over -
Dusk and they emerge,
the Pipistrelles,
one by single one,
a hundred or more
as if flung at fast, neat intervals
from the dimness of an attic
by some unseeable Godhand.
They follow-my-leader
into fading light, to flutter
down green avenues of darkness
in ancient ritual:
Pale winged bodies
reclaiming flightpaths
with radar precision.

You share their home -
Ignoring the smell,
the strange scrapings,
high pitched squeakings.
Reckon they've lived here longer,
have greater need.

You tell us it's a privilege to share... witness pre-history.