When dad drank, he would tell us

how he used to wrestle alligators—

how every single time he barely

survived. He’d hold his hands up

like he did when he ate a sandwich,

his fingers meant to pantomime

clutching that massive jaw closed,

snout as ill-fated as a dinosaur.

He told us stories in our backyard

surrounded by miles of identical

backyards and I learned stories meant

more than truth. Boredom a reptile

we kept at bay day after day. Often,

southern hospitality turned out to be

a tall tale. When we didn’t go to church,

folks could be mean as mockingbirds.

Out back, they terrorized for territory,

wrapped their claws around baby blue

bird heads then dropped each one into

hot dirt with a near-silent splat. I’d find

them boiled, an empty nest. To make

friends, I got to thinking about heaven.

Started to go to church, even asked to

be baptized like all the other kids my

age, in a white silk sash that read SAVED

in purple letters. A handful of holy water

wet my uneven middle part, dripped down

my ponytail. I refused to be dunked. Some

nights, I’d read the Bible, peak out my

window at the neighborhood pool where

teenagers made out for hours in the deep

end. Fantasy wasn’t far. They’d splash

each other, then suction together, just

like the way I saw two frogs mate once,

one on another’s back. Soaked in chlorine.

Flirting, I found out, had a lot to do with

a boy dunking a girl under water until she

sprung up, spitting everywhere, hollering.

They’d smile, shove each other. Then he’d

baby-cradle her, rocking her in the warm

water until they started kissing. It was a

formula. Poopgirl was what everybody

called one of the neighbors, because she

collected dog shit from yards then would 

pile it into someone’s mailbox, whoever 

she didn’t like. My territory an eventual target.

Secretly, it was a thrill. I was a shy

rabbit back then, and she rocked a

tomboy smirk, wore goth clothes

even in 95°F heat. She cornered me

at the pool one day, warned me I

better keep my blinds closed at night

or she’d hit my house again. Pinched

her nose, laughed. She wasn’t that

much older than me, a baby face

under eyeliner smears. After that,

I was careful, only looking

between my blinds through

a slit like an alligator’s eye, her

body a story I could only imagine.