My pet bat
sleeps behind a Prussian tapestry
Of "The Resentful Bride" and lives peacefully
In the refrigerator when I am out of town.
I have lost
respect for him, becoming so
Suburban, relying on me to catch his mice.
I long to
see him emerge during a dinner
Party shrieking, red eyes glaring, wings
Snapping, spiraling in wide, terrifying
Circles, horrifying my dignified guests,
Rolling them up in paralyzed balls like
Any respectable bat would do,
my damp cherry hair from its
Tight silver pins, leaving me breathless
As the first
night I penetrated his icy
Cavern, before either of us had known
The dizzying taste of blood.