Bat Dance

Dancing on a wing, the ballet in the sky was mesmerizing
As the orange-hued light from the setting sun silhouetted
Small forms performing intricate routines not only for my enjoyment
But in search of sustenance as they winged and turned and dove
Freely and effortlessly it seemed they were free of gravity
To fly where they willed as night fell and darkness gradually overtook the scene
Until I could no longer make out their forms in the waning twilight.
Were they still there, I wondered after I could no longer enjoy the dance?
Dancing, chasing a delectable mosquito or other flying insect
Unseen now and unheard, but probably more numerous than before
I briefly glimpsed one of them in the weak light of a lamp as it flew past the window
Its dark, featureless form reminding me why so many people fear them
Even though we are not in their food chain and despite the fact
That they actually serve us unselfishly by ridding the sky of the
Blood sucking vermin that make being outside after dark on a summer evening
An event that requires copious amounts of liberally applied foul smelling bug spray
To keep from becoming a banquet table for the bugs.
They try to make it smell good by offering scents of fruits and other flowers,
But who really wants to smell like a fruit bowl
Do I look like a strawberry? So then should I smell like one?
No—bring on the dancing warriors of the skies who live to rid the area of winged vermin.
I love seeing them dance in the twilight, knowing that they are there every summer’s night
Conducting the same fanciful flight routines for both me and for themselves.