The 45th President of the United States and I went to a petting zoo. Animals chewed on hay behind short wire fences. Children ran around yelling and reaching their arms out for the animals. What are these things? The 45th President of the United States asked me. Which ones? I said. That’s a sheep over there. I pointed around the petting zoo. There’s a llama. Those are some goats. Right, he said. But what are they? The animals? I asked. The 45th President slowly mouthed the world animal. Animals, I said. They’re called animals. You’re supposed to pet them. I led the 45th President over to the pack of goats. Like this, I said. Watch. I reached out and patted a goat on its head. It stared at me and blinked. Now you try, I told the 45th President of the United States. He walked over to the goats and reached his hand out. The goat stepped back and craned his neck and sniffed at the 45th President’s hand. The 45th President looked at me and smiled. Just then the goat lunged forward and bit off one of the 45th President’s fingers. The 45th President giggled and waved at me with his bloodied hand. Love this place, the 45th President said. He put his hand back over the fence and more goats ran over. They chewed his hand and his arm up to the elbow. The 45th President waved me over and told me to pet the goats. I stuck my hands in my pockets. Fraidy cat, the 45th President said. He led me over to a horse and he held out his bloody stump. The horse gnawed the 45th President’s arm until it was gone and started biting off large chunks of the 45th President’s torso. I grabbed the 45th President to take him out of the petting zoo. Wait, the 45th President said. Look! He pointed to an emu a few stalls down and ran over and held out his other arm and the emu swallowed the 45th President’s arm and bit it off at the shoulder. The 45th President ran over to an ostrich and held up his leg and giggled and yelled They love me! as the ostrich made his way up the 45th President’s leg chewing it like a carrot until it was gone, then pecking at the 45th President’s groin. On his remaining leg, the 45th President of the United States hobbled over to a rabbit hutch and fell into it. The rabbits descended on him, biting at his torso, his neck, and working their way up to his face. I leaned over the hutch to tell the 45th President of the United States goodbye. I reached out for his hand but remembered he didn’t have one. He smiled at me when he saw me. I love this place, he repeated. He began to choke. It’s the best place ever, he said. I watched as the hungry rabbits squirmed over the 45th President’s face, their pale backs hunched and heaving as they ate as fast they could.

Grant Gerald Miller

Grant Gerald Miller

Grant Gerald Miller was born in Memphis, Tennessee. He is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Alabama and an assistant editor at Black Warrior Review. His work has appeared or is set to appear in various journals including Hobart, Entropy, Qu Magazine, Bartleby Snopes, Necessary Fiction, and Nimrod.
Grant Gerald Miller

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