Hugo Williams
The Bat
Days when you feel akin
To the blind bat, tugged
Here and there on a thin
Piece of string, as it probes
Like the pickpocket’s paw and
Flickers from sleeveless robes.
Held in the air on wires
Of radar, whistles which bound
From the branches and briars
Are its sight as it flits
Through the cobwebs and gloom
Of the sheds to its nitch
In the eves. For fear
Of the currents of stars,
You too send out signals near
And far, sound friends to see
If you’re still in touch, if
The rumours you heard could be
True. Answers like radar come,
Telling the news. It seems
They’ve all moved house and some
Have emigrated, others left no
Forwarding address, a few
Are dead and buried, so
The truth drops like a stone:
Your eyes are opened,
But your bearing’s gone.
Page(s) 27
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