
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.