Squat like a knot of dark
upon dark at the edge of dusk.
Folded blades of downed chopper
landed mound of bark and leaves.
Your snake eye opens up like a moon
glassing the night. Bug-eater
lacking fangs to pierce
the nocturne skin
only your baleen beak
sifting plankton from the sky
flat as an unsent valentine.
You shoot soft tuts of fireworks
cluck up Morse code.
Heart monitor for the forest
it was told that you stole milk from goats
but you preserve such sweetness, Chupacabra.
Open wide let the world pour its song
back into your throat.
Ruth Taaffe is from Manchester, UK, and currently lives and works in Singapore as an English teacher. She is taking an MA in Creative Writing with Lancaster University. Some of her poems have been published in the online journals Creative Writing Ink, Nine Muses, The Poetry Village, Allegro and in print in Acumen and Poetry Birmingham.