two minute, thirty second read-time
1.
The head stank of fryer grease,
onion left too long in the sun,
sweat soaked into its seams.
Etienne Boudreaux, โEboโ
to everyone at Tiger Roll,
pulled it down,
one eye watering,
the glass one fixed,
cold and bright as a marble.
"Everyone takes a turn," Boss lady said,
"-record is three minutes thirty."
clipboard scepter of the prep room,
polo shirt crisp, androgynous,
in the fluorescent buzz.
Outside on Magazine Street,
autumn leaves skittered with plastic cups,
Saints jerseys lined up for combo trays,
children sticky with hibiscus snowballs
waiting for the mascot hunt.
The sushi boat golf cart revved by the curb,
its speakers spitting static jazz.
Ebo bolted,
dodging the crowd,
a flapping brush of faux fur at the legs,
the heavy cork molding of its chest,
giant red tongue flopping from its mouth
bouncing with each lunge.
Stumbling past a busker in the square,
The plaza a haze of fried shrimp and beer,
stoops littered with jack-oโ-lanterns,
their grins collapsing into mush
pigeons scattering with refusal.
For a moment he thought
he might break free.
Then the chopstick, equaling tranquilizer,
slammed his chest, emptied him.
"Two minutes fifty-six!"ย ย Jasper grinned.
2.
On the St. Charles streetcar,
the duffel slumped in his lap,
the tigerโs stupid smile
jutting from the zipper.
His glass eye caught the windowโs glow,
unblinking while the other blurred with tears.
The oaks along the square
rushed past, black against amber sky.
"Is that yours?"
The woman asked, radiating.
Lafayette Street tilted.
She led him away.
3.
Her apartment was a jungle-
walls tangled with vines,
green jars of pressed leaves,
plush animals stacked in ranks on the bed.
They did not look soft.
Their button eyes glittered like coins
spilled from a grave,
awaiting a verdict.
She crowned him with the tiger head,
tightened the fit,
her pupils wide with hunger.
One hand on his neck,
the other sliding inside her robe,
"You are the most glorious Shere Khan."
In the mask,
he believed.
The plush ranks shifted-
armies kneeling,
a kingdom bowing.
ascending was a Demi-God.
Her body arched under him,
her voice breaking on the name.
But he wanted her mouth.
He wanted his own skin.
He tore the head off-
and the slap cracked,
hard enough to sting his glass eye.
"What are you doing?"
she hissed.
Her robe rose like a curtain.
"Just go."
He fled into the night.
Loyola Avenue slick with leaves,
canal water sour with rot.
He raised the tiger head high,
a skull to be flung into the dark,
banished.
But the deposit.
Always the deposit.
He stuffed it back.
The plush eyes of her army
still on him,
the tigerโs grin
fixed, laughing
watching from the bag.