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.