Animal House

Jonathan Greenhause

A dolphin back-flips in the bathtub, sardines circle in the sink,
a boa’s curled around the shower rod,
& a troupe of capuchin monkeys claim ownership
over our medicine cabinet. Up & down the hall, cheetahs sprint,
while a polar bear snacks on salmon in our fridge
& penguins stake out the freezer. Our master bedroom’s
host to mating season, to shrill peacocks
showing off, caribou locking horns, sea lion bulls
shoving aside their blubbering competitors. Satin sheets
are overrun by a snake den’s slithering warmth,
walk-in closets become caves for a colony of vampire bats
bloodthirstily swinging from hangers,
our wooden walls now windows
through which termites chow, & the dining room’s
a carnivore’s delight, a place
where prey fear to go, while lions, wolves, & crocodiles
wait patiently beside the algae-addled swimming pool.
Regardless of our apartment’s rare amenities,
no buyer seems interested, & our pets, too,
an apathetic dog & apoplectic cat,
are no more fond of our menagerie, prefer the dullness
of our back-porch, from which they watch the advancing sea.