Guano Glorioso

by December 8, 2023 0 comments

At the bottom of the bag, the cul-
—under the last batch of cans
to be mangled by the recycler—
a smear I remember must be
batshit. Back at the cabin she’d

flapped me into one of those
fight-or-freeze frenzies,
then finally landed, hung
just long enough to drop
into a crumpled dark
that released her to the world
she’d longed for all along.

In transit, though, evidently
more senseless terror, that

I pity whoever discovers the sack
that got me here. But please,
consider that ambush, that
spasm, that bright expulsion.

And please consider me now
in this new world I didn’t know
I’d longed for all along.

– D. R. James

editors note:

A surprise for bagged and bagger alike. – mh clay

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