We got it from the bats,
Tiny teeth sinking into our veins.
Abandoning one dying carrier
And entering another.
It spread rapidly, any type
Of liquid secretion to touch the skin
Brought forth unmistakable symptoms.
Our noses flattened and turned up.
Our sight began to dim, only shadows.
Hearing, however, improved to the point
Where mobility was directed by sonar
Rather than our eyes; our ears turned triangular.
Most disquieting of all:
This sudden craving for fresh blood.
The flesh beneath our arms expanded.
Our young soon learned to fly.
The old human shapes eventually died out.
Tonight, we will celebrate our evolution
Beneath the warm glow from the old moon.
We will hibernate when winter comes.
James P. Roberts is the author of four collections of poetry and numerous magazine appearances. He is thrilled to have a piece forthcoming in Weirdbook after an absence of 31 years. James lives in Madison, Wisconsin where he hosts a weekly radio poetry show and has a passion for women’s flat-track roller derby.