Accusing the Panda
The day after I was told
that I am lousy in bed,
I went to the zoo to accuse
the giant panda from China.
He refused to tell me the last time
he got any.
He didn’t answer when I asked
why the first of his kind allowed
himself to be brought
to America by a white
woman, carried
in her arms. Black
and white
bear,
ambassador of peace,
token of friendship,
a giant dumpling of kowtow
cuteness, a-
sexual.
I asked him why
he would not fuck the female
they had arranged for him.
I asked him if
he believed in love.
Panda looked at me,
eyes,
the bodies of crows partially covered
in slushy snow,
said:
“I am black and white, not
grey.”
Accusing the Humans
They have fed me Viagra.
They have shown me porn.
They have sat me down
in front of a live sex show,
where I witnessed
the panda man towering above the panda woman
all curled up,
face mashed into the concrete, rubbing,
forced or in ecstasy.
I watched everything take place behind bars,
bars that added black zebra stripes to my father’s body as my mother cuddled me, a pinkish baby, and pointed him out to me, for they met only once a year, for conjugal
visits, although we still had a zebra-striped view of him, from afar.
At forty days my eyes opened. At four years a message came to the panda
community, from both without and within. The world slowly tortured to death by
humans, and we pandas taking pains taking stands to stop all procreation, abstain
ourselves to extinction.
Message of the pandas told by my mama: first in words, then with her face mashed
and rubbing into concrete as I watched her, zebra-striped, other side.
Is there a young panda watching me
as I pound this rebellious panda woman?
Am I interestingly
zebra-striped or
just stripped of
all that is good?
This panda woman tried to be obedient
to the message,
howling at me to
remember my duty, the pandas’ stand,
but they have fed me Viagra,
and they have shown me porn,
and they have sat me down
in front of a live audience,
and all I want is to stop
listening to the panda message,
but I cannot reach my own ears
with my teeth, so instead I tear
at hers until she bleeds,
locking her in place with my black legs,
pawing her with my black arms,
digging into her white midsection with
my black talons, and
they do not stop me.
They like it.
Accusing the Bamboo
The panda sits behind bars, just sitting, legs spread wide, gnawing on a stick of
bamboo.
Bear Cat, but what’s in a name?
My mother named me Bamboo because she wanted me to be like the bamboo
bending with the wind but never breaking.
Mother, I have bent for you. You alienated me
because—
I have bent for you, mother, aunt, cousin,
and I have bent for you, peer, best friend, crush,
and now all I am is a stooped bow waiting
for an arrow that you know will never come
to release, taut but never broken, never able to break,
strong enough for you to close your eyes
and enjoy my music as I
convulse in the gale.
Friends, I have bent for you. You alienated me
because—
Mother, I have bent over for you. You should have used a bamboo cane
on me instead of
the rattan one that broke in half so soon,
that broke in half so soon
you could not use it on my brother, your son.
The bear cat gnaws the bamboo, and I can tell the zoo had cut it from the lake next
door by the crude pocket knife markings of teenage love carved
on the bamboo. I too
Run
your fingers along my taut spine,
give it a flick and commend me,
commend me on my strength, for, mother, friends,
I have bent for you, I have done my yoga
like you told me to, and it is all
for my own good.
YZ Chin, formerly of Malaysia and Chicago, currently lives in New York City. Chin is an associate editor with Chicagoland-based RHINO.