I hear the Jurassic Park music swell, a sunset of violin
strings when the paleontologist sees his life’s
work alive for the first time. Moving,
somehow. Except. All the wildlife
here stands like a human in the face of a t-rex,
holding their breaths. Yes, the geese are soaring but
their flight is perpetual, their eyes perspex.
Clever girl says the man with the gun, seeing it
for what it is. Squirrels and deer stuffed on top
of pedestals. Like rex, people don’t want to feed, they want
to hunt. I’m waiting for the jeep-sized claw to drop
down in the mud, see the doctor in the rain, his hand
pressed hard against the girl’s mouth as she hyperventilates,
hear the deep bass of that reptilian throat vibrate.



Megan J. Arlett