bats in the belfry

when my grandmother died,
my mother claimed
that she had a dream
the night before
that something bad was
going to happen.
my grandmother was a human
ash tray.
smoked three packs
of tarreytons a day
and drank
Canadian club whiskey
like most people drink milk.
eighty-five years
seemed plenty.
the day after she died.
my mother swore
that she heard her laughing.
it was my grandmother's voice
and it was coming from
a vent above the door
in the living room.
my father, wanting to see
if my grandmother
was in the vent, took the screws
out and stuck a broom
in as we watched.
a bat came flying out,
which made everyone scream.
we were glad it wasn't
our grandmother, but sort of
disappointed too.
we liked the crazy old witch.