Macks Cook

Boggle

My rats do little crimes in the dark
while I pore over my laptop. While I sign, 

gah, the fifth stupid medical form,
promising through my fake little

signature that I’m not gonna be 
mad if “the therapy” doesn’t work.

That I won’t take it personally if
my brain chemicals just refuse

to comply. My rats are lesbian lovers
and they hump each other every

night before bed (and sometimes
also in the afternoons, mornings;

when I wake up in a cold sweat
for a late-night piss). I’ll hear them

smashing their weird little bodies 
together. The last therapist I

saw really wanted me to try
CBD and build a “mental health toolbox”.

I joked, I’ll need airholes in mine 
for the rats, and she didn’t laugh.

Like she had already forgot her own 
analogy. When rats get real happy

their eyes pop out of their heads 
just a little bit. It’s called boggling.

I think it’s because they grind
their teeth together so hard

their big ‘ol eyes have nowhere
to go but out. I wish humans inherited

that weird animal thing where
teeth-grinding = contentedness.

I want to be petted by a lover;
for my eyes to bulge out my skull.