by Zachary Kocanda

A cartoon from the New Yorker,
“I’m sorry, this is literally my first
rodeo.” But I don’t understand art

or why I stockpile so many pencils.
I only author my poems with the
cow’s blood tie-dyed up to patches

on my elbows. I force-fed pears
to cattle before taking them back
out through their stomachs, as my

materials pooled out into a
Petri dish. I collect my wide-brimmed
hat, two Picasso-esque mock-ups

drawn on postcards,
eat a pyrus and somersault
through the windowsill.

Zachary Kocanda is a sophomore at Bowling Green State University studying creative writing. He is a staff member for both Prairie Margins and Key Magazine.