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