What Kind of Fantastic Beast am I?

by Lou Jent

 

Well, let's see.         I was
never mistaken for a
lady.                         Not the dainty type,
my laugh shakes windows and my hair sometimes fills doorframes, my voice projects ahead of
me like the lead car in a race, and I blow in behind it. I'm sometimes a storm that cancels
whatever else you had planned. Many have hunted me but when I am
                                       trapped, I'm

 

boring, and docile and do the
grocery shopping,                     sleep late
on Sunday,                                 fall ill

with flu every
February.                                   Just like those
other glittering

objects, the shine wears
off.        Trust me.               I used to think
if I dyed my hair

funky enough, if my outfits were edgy with a hint of lace and leather, if my mouth was spunky
enough, I could make love less elusive. Now instead, I grow wild and fragile.                I growl
when I am hungry.

I wear lipstick that is too bold. I let my mustache go. lift my chin and let songs leap out of me
like lightning bolts. I never run.           I snarl unless I have a reason to be tame. I might make you
wonder what forest I came from. At night       I crawl into my den and breathe the cautions of
lessons learned
                             into my child:

they may never want
or understand you,           so walk
this world alert, and

line your pockets and
your precious-to-me heart
with effervescent

always-present
                                         joy.