On a chest of draws he proudly stood.

Dressed in nothing but Bat wings and hood.

Poised for flight, frolic or fantasy;

rampant he stood there for her to see.

Few people lived, in that small mining town.

But those that did, kept an ear to the ground.

For something juicy, was new news indeed.

And gossip could grow from a tiny seed.

What are those strange sounds, that we nightly hear?

A sort of whump, from a room in the rear.

Giggles and laughter and whoops of joy.

But coy curtains shrouded the Bat girl and boy.

Despite their squinting, through binoculars.

The noisy secret, under the stars,

remained a mystery, for week on week.

For the watchers lacked courage, to take a peek.

And here we begin, this great fliers tale.

Its quite enough to turn voyeurs pale.

It all came about in this flightful way.

But their names and the place I will not say.

On the fateful night, in that mining town.

With bated breath, neighbors, waited around,

to listen again to the thrilling moan;

that came from house with the blinds pulled down.

So here’s the tale, of the “whumph” in the night.

The echoing crash of thunder and flight.

Quakes, shakes and crashes; shrill cries of glee;

behind closed curtains, where no one could see!

Our hero had tied her, by hand and foot,

to the posts of the bed, with hands that shook.

And though clothed in less than a happy smile,

she seemed to enjoy his Bat Bondage style.

On top of the bureau, he fearlessly stood;

flapping his wings, as a bold Bat Man should.

Ready and waiting, she smiled at his stance;

writhing in passion for bat like romance.

Parabolic in style, the flight line curve.

Matched the “batty” as well as his verve.

Lustily launched, in a long graceful arc.

He flew through the air, intent on his mark.

His flight soared upwards; cape in full stream.

His head made sharp contact with ceiling and beam!

Drag overcame lift, as he fell in a lump, where

master whammed mistress and mattress went whump!

Winded, the whumped woman, wondered a while;

if the whumper was wounded; in Bat Man style?

With winsome whine she whispered his name

but the whumper, unmoving, inactive remained!

Shrouded in bat wings but quite unhurt;

she wriggled her body, he stayed inert.

Tied as she was, there was nothing to do

but call out for help to someone she knew.

The patient watchers, were wide awake.

Eyes to their windows, a sighting to make.

The cry for help heard, by listening throng;

they all responded, and they all went along!

Our heroes were found in a tangle of wings;

and not much else except for some strings.

The unconscious Bat Man, a bump on his head;

her embarrassed grin and a well whumped bed!

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, February, 1998

(from a story in “Dear Abby.)