FANZINE

My piss is a gray squirrel named Nutmeg. It scampers wet. And I am relieved. There goes my piss up into my front yard tree. My piss chittering up its joy at freedom. My stomach flattens now that silly piss Nutmeg is out and gone.

My neighbor’s daughter, Molly, feeds my piss on the regular. I see her out there with Hot Cheetohs. “Here Squirrel-Squirrel!” Nutmeg lopes fearless. Nutmeg’s paws and face fire-orange red stained and then his shits under the tree looking exactly like they did when they went in. When they went in before they were made shits. I want to shake Molly, a shoulder grab and shake, but I don’t. Her dad is big.

I never piss a squirrel again but I shit a caribou and then a titmouse. Both nameless. I never see the titmouse again but the caribou hung out in the yard for an afternoon and Molly tried to ride it and it let her. Her tiny body draped its back like a blanket.

I stood on my porch and watched for a while. My shit took her round and round. Clomp clomp on the driveway and then :::: :::: on the grass. Clomp clomp. :::: :::: . Molly just laughed and hugged onto my caribou shit like it was her father’s fuckin’ beast of a back and I got bored and went back inside.

I have nightmares and they all center around my front yard full of things that were churned inside my body and left wet. Molly’s always in the dreams but somehow I am her and she is me and she is watching from my front porch while I play with all the shits and pisses. Every dream ends with the Molly-me rampage-shaking me by the shoulders until my Molly-head throttles broken and flops. I wake up screaming, checking my neck for vertebrae.

This Molly needs a lesson. I want to piss or shit out Molly’s father. I want Molly’s father shit-piss to lie in my front yard while his daughter feeds him Hot Cheetohs. Nutmeg on my shoulder while we watch, watch, watch. Molly sitting there feeding a big piece of shitpiss that she thinks she loves but it’s just a big pile of dad-shaped shitpiss. Her fingers wet with going into his mouth over and over again.

I’ll watch while my stomach flattens from the greatest big it’s ever been now that monster of a man is out and gone. Out and gone. I’ll watch from my porch and hope Molly lovin’ up my piss, my fuckin’ shit like it’s her huge of a father will take care of how I want to use my hands.

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_{Read Tracy Lynne Oliver’s companion story, “This Weekend,” here.}