i met a beast
who had fur that looked and felt like tree bark. rough,
raw, and broken.
seemed like dull pebbles. so small, so unbreakable.
when it ate, it only ate dead things,
recycling limp rabbits and stiff gerbils in its stomach.
its gaze, heavy and studious
prickled my skin, rose my arm hairs.
i ran away.
i met a man
whose words i ate
like cold watermelon slices on a hot, august day.
he worked long hours at his 8am-5pm office,
cracking his knuckles as he typed in his small, unorganized cubicle.
this man looked like the man in the white, pale cubicle next to him
and like the man in the cubicle after that
and the one after that.
pissed on his neighbor’s bushes
purposefully shat all over the toilet, his bathroom’s white linoleum floor
and touched himself in front of his children
who he didn’t think noticed.
i saw the beast again
under a streetlight, on a Wednesday night.
it looked alone, sad?, aloof.
i didn’t think
it should have been the one