Do you believe in magic?
Not the hallucinations you see
from eating magic mushrooms or LSD.
That’s bullshit.
I’ve seen the real thing.
Had it bite me.

My first child is a dragon.
An orange-eyed, black-tongued,
claw-footed, winged beast.
Hatched from an egg.
I squirted ground fish meal,
juice and yogurt down his throat
before he got strong enough to hunt.
Got some flung on my holster.
You’ve got to wear a gun
when you’re raising a dragon.

Honk, honk, honk, he begged for flesh
like a baby goose.
Taught the beast to fly, too.
Flapped my arms until he took off.
I loved him even after I bled,
still have scars where his claws scratched.

When he was four months old, he said hello.
Eight months later, the feathers on the back of his neck
turned from green to yellow.

Did you know dragons like dirty jokes and cop shows?
Now he’s learning opera.
Speaks in a baritone, sings like a tenor.
Wants to grow up to be Rolando Villazón.
Fan his tail, spread his wings,
strut across the stage.