by Brett Elizabeth Jenkins
In the play, I am Billy's Mom. I do all the things Billy's Mom
does, but we can't have a dog. Billy's Mom is oppressed, I say.
When the play ends we hold hands and go down the hall
for some light refreshments. I don't want a cookie,
but I am not allowed to have extra grapes. I want to know if we
have to do the play again tomorrow when I see a dead tiger
in the weeds near the wall. That's a dead tiger, I say. Then the tiger
looks at me. That's not a dead tiger I say. The tiger moves toward us.
Out of all the play actors in the cafeteria, the tiger goes after Billy's Mom.
It jumps at me like a terrible fish. I want to football slap it on the nose
but fear it will anger the tiger. Billy's Mom is oppressed, I say.
Brett Elizabeth lives and writes in Minnesota. She is the author of the chapbook Ether/Ore. Look for her work in Beloit Poetry Journal, Potomac Review, PANK, elimae, RHINO, and elsewhere.