by Mark McKee Jr. I feed it and it grows and it spits up. I shovel the vomit into piles, build sand castles. It dances back and forth, first hopping on one hind foot then the other. Its feet are green and black. A gull cries over the sea. Waves crash along the white sand beach. It nods at the castle, “I pillage?” “Go ahead,” I say. It steps backwards, counting to five. It counts the steps loudly, like this,”Umph. Umph. Umph.” At the end of the five steps it runs in place, mounting speed. The sand on the beach…

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