Godzilla Toy

By Daniel McCarthy

Your skin is avocado,

skinned.

Tongue of fire

painted on red plastic. Detached

hand loosely held by a spring. Eyes painted

opaque with dots of white modeling

paint off-centered

so as to suggest depth,

reflection from

the military lights

attempting to lure you out,

out to the harbor.

The harbor is

the orange shag

living

room rug.

On the linoleum

your trident foundation,

bent legs and cucumberous tail,

support your girth and glide

you along the kitchen floor

mainland,

stomping the fleeing natives

who rape in the shadows as dying pantheists do.

Into the toxic orange bay, your tiny wheels

sink in the shag, sideways you tip.

– Daniel McCarthy lives in Lawrence and teaches English composition and literature at Highland Community College.