Miranda Beeson Alpha Boars

Radioactive Boars in Fukushima Thwart Residents’ Plans to Return Home

NYTimes, March 9, 2017


We light our wild boar way through deserted streets. A dim burn

at dusk, tusks bright as Jupiter by midnight.


The fungi at the fungi farm turned bright blue. They were the first

to radiate. I love shitakes—we snuffled them all up.


Those first few weeks were glorious. No two-hooves in sight. Rats

took supermarkets. All-night parties in the soba noodle aisle.


Dogs took over two-hoove dens, tore down doors, looted cupboards,

now sleep on down-filled quilts. Off-leash at last.


We finished off some chicks at the beginning. Look, two-hooves

left their livestock behind in pens, to starve and die.


What we did was more humane. Every beast should live well

and die a quick, good death.


My piglets gleam. Born neon-pink, they grow saber-tooth-tiger

tusks, rippling mercury fur.


My little tribe runs wild, tusking here and there. No fear. I had forgotten

too, but then word came two-hooves wants back in.


Shots in the night. News of culling, furnaces, mass graves. Brutal two-

hooves on the move, but not for long,


for we are nuclear-boar-strong now. We have shining x-ray eyes—

our hooves flick atomic fire.


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