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.