A Report of the City Manager

When, last Sunday noon, the “Municipal Bat Roost”
became, due to an error
in the print shop (misspelling a civic order),
a Municipal Bat Roast,
All the dodoes, sparrow-camels, rocs and griffins;
phoenixes and hippogriffs
rose slowly from the dark cellars of the town (where,
it seems, they had been sleeping all winter) and flew
straight up over our rooftops, not quite out of view.
They have been hovering there,
above us, since then. A cloud
of dust rose with them, then settled; the Sunday crowd,
coughing, did not look for long:
We know that six stone locusts fell quite near the Roast;
otherwise its count (ten griffins, fifty dodoes,
etc.) seems very likely to be wrong.