Girls in pink dresses are crawling around in the grass

Their hair is striped blonde, zebra-like

I eat a fistful of cashews and watch from a distance

Through my mother of pearl opera binoculars

My wife crawls out of a nautilus shell

She is wearing a straw hat from Maryam Nassir Zadeh

And pristine white Tabi boots

Look at those girls, I say, their highlights are so tacky

My wife looks deeply disappointed

That’s the new style, she says

Masami Hosono says mullets are out

This is news to me

I did not hear the news because

I crumpled the newspaper and stuffed it into my bra

My wife does a shot of liquid chlorophyll

Together, we admire the girls, who are no longer crawling,

No, they are slithering now, they have changed

Into neon Lycra outfits

Who are those girls? Why are they doing that?

The girls peel off their faces, which turn out to be rubber masks

Fitted with glass eyes and eyebrows made of fur

Plucked from the mink coats of dead vaudeville starlets

My wife cackles

I went to school with the choreographer, you know?

I can’t tell if she’s a total sellout or if I’m just jealous

My wife is into fermentation

She produces a pickled radish and I eat it

She likes to let things stew about

Purveyor of all things sour and rotten