Bats know where they’ll go
With their bellies full of gnats
But a dying nation counts each mail-in
Yet no way home after that.
A typhoon passing to the south
Brings needed rain to quench the drought
But the storm between two sorrows
Has no wet tomorrows; only doubt.
Business unusual in the cycle of supply and demand
No promise to farmers working the land
No sustenance nor strengthened workers
With no eagle’s grace at hand
But bats don’t dicker or mock the sea
Unlike the gluttons of the century
Who wither and worry between two losing choices
And have no sonar to hear clear voices.
As dusk signals the end of the bats’ meal airborne
They return to their nests for the dawning of dawn
Grasping nature that suffices without decision
Life and death infamy or derision.
November 6, 2020
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