What Rough Beast | Poem for August 20, 2017

According to a recent study, the population of bigots is higher than any year before. 38–50% of bigots carry Lyme disease and other pathogens. A recent study states there is a 20% chance of transmission after 16 hours of a bigot bite. I worry about bigots in the leaves. I worry about bigots in the bushes. I don’t let the dog nose into the weeds because I’m frightened a bigot will latch on and she’ll carry a bigot home without me knowing. I check the CDC, a map shows bigots are spreading. They started on the East Coast, are moving across our country. When I used to live in the city, I didn’t worry so much about bigots. Now that I moved to the country, I worry about bigots all the time. I paid a local company to spray my yard, kill all the bigots. I look out my windows, the wind tosses the trees, I fear bigots in the breeze. I listen to the radio, NPR reports bigots are spreading across Europe. I watch videos about how to remove bigots. “Carefully grasp the bigot at the base with tweezers,” the voice says. “If it breaks at the body leaving the head still embedded, seek medical attention immediately.” There’s no scientific consensus about what to do if a bigot attaches to you. Antibiotics may or may not work. When a bigot grasps on, it releases a numbing fluid, then uses its pincers to cut the flesh, digs it head in, and swells with blood. Before I go outside, I tuck my pants into my socks and spray my shoes. Cedar oil, eucalyptus, permethrin, DEET. Nothing seems to work perfectly. Each morning and night, I do bigot checks. I look behind my son’s ears. Run my fingers through his hair. I ask him to drop his gym pants, bend over, and check his anus in case of bigots.