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November 23, 2016 | Poetry

Echidna Speed Dating

Yael Massen

Echidna Speed Dating photo

I got my dad’s big nose and people make fun of me for it. Fuck them. Thus the spines, thus the spurs. It hurt when the kids would point at him and laugh. It still hurts. Am I ugly? I find myself rolling into a ball from their old footprints and the slightest shiver in the ground. Do you think my nose is big? Don’t answer that. You look kind of cute and shouldn’t ruin this for us. These days, I’m embracing my freak: look at all the places I can touch you with my tongue. Maybe I’ll let you peek into my pouch—if you’re like all the others, I know you’re just waiting to see my goddamn eggs. Probably scrolled through the pics they plastered of me online. Whatever. I’m lonely and spent all day trying to get some food down my damn beak. Some things you might want to know if you’re going to stay the night: I don’t have a blanket, when the room gets too hot I can’t sleep, and I’m always the big spoon.

 

image: Tara Wray


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