Page 7 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Two

Arriving at their vespertine mess hall,
The torrent of bats that pinged for all
The moths they could catch and gobble down whole,
Instead had notes of distress in their call.

“What’s going on here?” cried one in dismay;
“An instant before I snap up my prey,
As I’m homing in on its reflection
My signal gets jammed in an unknown way!”

And none had a lepidopteran feast—
But Zoomer, that is; for he never ceased
His patient aerobatic maneuver
And caught and ate a score of bugs, at least.

The rest of the bats went home without food.
Their pendulous pouts bespoke a foul mood:
They wanted to sleep but couldn’t relax;
A minor jostle made them fuss and feud.

The next two feedings went from bad to worse:
The weakening males refused to converse,
And mothers with babies began to think
Their pups would soon be unable to nurse.

Then rumors began to fly left and right;
Some spoke of a demon working at night,
While others just wanted to pull up stakes
And fly off famished to find a new site.