I’m sitting here, very still.
Of bats I hope to get my fill.
But all ain’t well. It isn’t right:
That bloody PIR flood-light
Bolted there, upon the wall,
It’s glaring eye stares at all.
The owner promised it wouldn’t work.
Now it’s clear he’s a lying jerk.
If I move a tiny bit,
All around is brightly lit.
Bright as any supernova,
My survey will be truly over.
So here I sit and curse my lot,
Want to move, but I cannot.
Cramp in foot I cannot sate,
My itchy nose must also wait.
Frustration grows, no longer care,
Desperately around I stare.
I see my answer, my lips I lick,
As my eye falls onto a half-brick.
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