“Millay-Lorca-Kerouac,” I announce.

Driving to Flint we play Fuck-Marry-Kill.

 

“Edna?” you doubt. “Look at this ass. I bounce

when I strut” — I show off my tight Goodwill

 

britches, crotch frayed — “and when I’m on all fours.”

I love your truck with its [Off-road Princess]

 

[NDN Grrlz, please] and [My Pussy Roars]

decals. “Edna loved queer boys. She’d hit this.”

 

“Federico?” “Love my bambino.” “Jack?” “Hate

Jack; the white crayon of art.” “A huge sack

 

of limp cocks?” “Yes, literature’s eight dollar

haircut.” You laughed. I like your laugh. Irate

 

raving aside, you’re a blessing: laid-back,

hep, steps beyond she and he, his and her.