Mitchell Angelo

PASSING

From up your gullet crawls puberty’s

late bloom. A goose eats the letters in

your name like jelly beans. He hides inside

a pulped chamber, sleeps in the pits

and fissures. Hissing with all those

ugly teeth. Molars ripen next to

the carrots, julienned.

I sit on the subway neighboring possums.

They read newspapers and drink wet coffee.

One wears a jade necklace and pats his plump

middle. It’s embarrassing, really, finding him

wearing all that costume jewelry. Slimy-toed,

greasy-palmed, pale sprout. I carry a dagger in my red

backpack. I do not know the difference between us

at times. A coyote steps onto the train; a bright purple

fear pours across the platform. His abdomen

produces a hand and waves. I swallow it whole

like a real man.


Mitchell Angelo is a creative writing major at SUNY Purchase College, and the managing editor of Gutter Mag. His work has previously appeared in Gandy Dancer, Paintbucket.page, and The Westchester Review. His microwave is haunted.