Avoiding Predation
rating: +7+x

I don an alien.
Yards of rusty, faux suede were sacrificed to it.
Fake bronze buttons hastily sewn, or nailed, into it.
Rests on my shoulders like some large, long tailed cat.
No, not a cat, like membranous, oxidized wings.

I wear the coat out, in public.
It tries to live a second life as a sail.
The hematite hue is bright against the snow, the black coats.
A scarf, a snake with green and orange stripes coils about my neck
and dangles in garish solidarity.

I expected to be a target, no, a neon sign.
Instead it’s strangely admonitory, the color of poison, the poisonous.
No, one says a thing.
Wonder then if I am batesian or mullarian,
a poser, or legitimate?

An octopus or a bumblebee?

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