THE MONGOOSE BECOMES MORE FOLKLORE THAN NUISANCE
the minute it emerges, teeth bared, from the underbelly of a dumpster. how we must humanize
a thing before extending only our basic courtesies. i leave a trail of stale breadcrumbs or the
cooked carcass of another unhuman thing cubed and in no unusual pattern until it meets the
outstretched garden of skin i have cupped and knelt down before it. and already i am thinking of
the page and what will spill out from it as i tether this small speck of communion splayed out in
my memory. and i think i will speak of mycelium and the dank soil, fertile, its lineage of
roadkill, a language of both hunger and the large shadow we will eclipse into to fill ourselves
with anything but the empty we carry between us. and at once, the sputtered heart of a diesel
engine echoes through this forest of concrete, my friend or captive or wayward stranger startles
away into a place that is no longer before me. and still the aggregate is sticky in this prismed
light, and still i think of this poem and the dark patch of space it will one day inhabit, and still we
transcribe our guilt onto everything we deem worthy of a smiling face.
Lucas Peel is a Big Mouth™ moonlighting as an adult. Sometimes he stays up late and finds the sun bobbing in his cereal bowl. Sometimes he tweets @lookchrlz. Sometimes he believes in love and also himself.