I said to the guy
I'm afraid to find out what my spirit animal is
it could be a blobfish or a sloth or a slug
as much as I want it to be a fucking eagle
or a fucking black bear
or a fucking shark
he exhaled and slid his glossy hand into my cerebellum
and showed me anyway, the asshole
I got a good look at his eyes as he raped my mind
he was undeniably insane, not a mystic
or even some world-wizened guru set to push me
towards a flimsy enlightenment
oh jesus it had to be it had to be it had to be
a 1987 Z-model Xerox machine
is this even an animal? I bellowed
his measly eyes glazed over as he sloshed his hand
violently out of my skull
and quickly fished a rotten banana from his overcoat pocket
all glued to me he asked:
would you rather be a banana?
All rights reserved.
The author has not attached a note to this story.