Imago
By Donny Winter
The locker room was the epicenter again,
a titan convergence with three football players
twice his size, Ghidorah-tongued, and out for blood.
They’d spit their hate between gut punch gasps
and the burn of each spit wad lava bomb lingered.
He’d dam the tears behind his lids and tried to flail
until his limbs fell limp, but not the wrists, of course,
because he knew they’d keep their target locked.
Even on the bus, he’d hear their bellows echo
across the parking lot, though they’d fade away
against the motor’s meditative grumble.
Landscapes transmogrified in his mind
on the long rides home, and today, he dreamed
himself a defeated larva on a journey.
Somewhere in the woods, a yakusuji stood,
and he’d weave himself a cocoon
to forge Mothra wings fit for flight.
