A bat came in enabling the room’s darkness
in speeding loops it was a black formation of clouds
swinging through the elements of the place
skimming up and over the bare lightbulb
underneath I watched as it grew fatter
organs undulating, cling-film skin thinning over it
veins popping from the legs like a dark pudding bubbling.
I could see it; the bat was becoming a man
in a man’s dusty clothing, dressed diligently in a kind of
funeral attire, scrawny legs knitting with the corrugated cloth
thatching to it, and then, committed, it starts flying slower
and closer to the ground, to rinse itself of its old bat skin
flopping like a sack, a person struggling in a jumper
a small-growing spine poking out through the rim
an adult baby convulsing on the floor
and still it got bigger, less furred
and I was on the bed as the noises changed
from the animal’s echolocation to the basin dish
of a man’s yell, who rose from the floor
clothes hanging from him, and I add these features later
my version of events that night, that a bat become a man
less a threat than a man just for the sake of it