Flittermice weave over reeking moonshine
cross-eyed and woozy on rising fumes
chase paper-like moths through the dense night-time
jaws snap away to roosts the moths to consume
a charge for the moth from a hot light bulb
a scorch a burned bum a lucky escape
but echolocation doesn’t see the bat dulled
dinner tonight is in his mouth draped
the reek of the moonshine the rise of vapour
has chemically altered the mammal’s ability
he weaves and he wavers his wings act as tracers
but the dread-filled moth makes a dart of agility
another lucky escape
journalread 