Close-up, Nostalgic

Bloodsucker bugs in the side room

w/ a bumblebee puppet wasps and no batteries

a stuffed rabbit on skates.

I just breathed a knife the greenhouse effect

Mrs. Butterworth bottles lining the sills.

The girl smiles from the side

of the bottle of dye

the pain of lost time

and I wish I’d blonde in the schoolyard at night

a paper plate taped to my face.

Summer means nothing slimy woods meta-noir

cigarettes in the paw-paws

and at dawn the blonde ingénue crawling into the bedroom.

She eats sixteen cupcakes takes photos in barely-

there cotton panties in your mother’s drawers

rooting for bras feels like master-suite royalty

tracing the tropics on your globe with her lipstick.

My orange ombré lips dominate decimate

white-hot food for the boys droopy eyes between sizes.

In the morning it mists. I take his temperature

w/ the plastic thermometer in the play doctor’s case

warn him of bare armpits

too much sun in the fun.

I curtsy long. I drink rum in the dollhouse

where the kitchen lights up.

I throw myself into the lake

turn the barbecue into a wake

because what else can you do when the phone doesn’t ring?