THE BEASTS

I thought about us having babies

but, upon reflection

in the pool that is my mind,

they became animals.

A litter of animal babies

that we produced,

suckling and yelping at your teat,

eating you raw,

eating you alive,

tearing at you,

tasting you,

trying our patience

brutalizing us both equally.

It was horrible,

this beastly brood we had created,

the monsters we'd spawned,

and I begged a higher power

to alleviate our suffering

and take us away

from our hellish lives.

And it worked,

it seems

for, even in my head,

we no longer have those atrocious children

the animal kids I once considered.

We have no babies, now

nor, I think, will we ever.

Imagination is a very dangerous thing.

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