In Bangladesh

He got in through the mesh.

It was a bat

A bat rolled up in a mat.

Was he dead or just in bed?

estivating or maybe meditating.

 

He looked mummified.

I had to clarify.

He was quiet;

too long on a diet.

No mosquito no fly

had passed by

while he took his rest

in that comfy nest.

 

I picked him up.

He felt cold.

He looked old.

I took him up on the roof

and, just for fun,

put him in the sun

to soak up the rays

of that equatorial day.

 

Slowly he woke.

I gave him a poke.

Crawling on little bat feet,

far up from the street

up there on the roof,

and then…….poof.

He was in the air

without a care,

flying in circles around me,

flapping his wings mightily.

I was with him entirely.

 

Just a couple of feet off the ground

he flew round and round

round and round

with a flapping sound.

 

He got his bearing.

I was just staring.

He shot straight out.

I tried to shout,

“Hey, you were a wreck

And now you are just a speck!”

 

Ricker Winsor

Bali, Indonesia 2014