by Michael Estabrook
Desmondus rotundus
We are the only mammals on the planet
(discounting Dracula and his vampire buddies)
to live entirely on blood
after dark leaving our belfries, bridges, attics and caves
flying out to find ourselves a nice fat cow
horse pig or goat bite in tiny and suck
they feel nothing because our anticoagulant
has a dram of anesthesia mixed in
clever little carnivores aren’t we.
Some people think we are nasty, ugly little fuckers
particularly when we scurry along
on our stumpy wing-legs and hiss.
But we have few enemies
although there are the Coachwhip snakes
that hang out near cave entrances
snatch us from of the air
as we stream by heading out
to fill our bellies with blood
you cannot believe
how fast those damn bastards are
Michael Estabrook has been publishing his poetry in the small press since the 1980s. He has published over 20 collections, a recent one being The Poet’s Curse, A Miscellany(The Poetry Box, 2019).
