Driven Bats

Just 27 nautical miles
Off the eastern coast of Nowhere
Rusts an old abandoned oil rig
Where guano is piled impressively high

The bats that leave this rich deposit
When not hanging upside down
Off the western coast of Somewhere
Fly backwards like black hummingbirds

Other times they love to hover
Helicopter-wise for fun
Above the ageing public buildings
Of Nowhere’s bureaucratic streets

And when they flit through Somewhere’s skies
Bothering tourists for fish and chips
They cackle like demented demons
As they dive bomb with Stuka screams

But there is nothing they love more
Than flying over the oil rig
Cranked up on snatched carbohydrates
Shitting a mountain of minerals

Bio: Jim Lawrence is a poet, freelance editor, writer, translator and bedroom guitarist in Southampton. He likes the blues, cats, Jack Daniels, Gillian Anderson and any food that isn’t an avocado or a sprout.