You used to be a whale and then you ate a whale
and now you’re a cannibal.
I used to be an avid pogo-stick-er
and dream that my bones were liquid
cheese, a real nice fondue.
I’m always breaking into the maintenance closet
thinking it’s a stairwell. I’m always making eye contact
with the mop and the mop raises her eyebrows
because she thinks I’m a fucking lunatic. I am not
crossing my heart.
I am not sticking a needle anywhere,
thank you. I want to stick
all of the spring salad from New Jersey
into my tote bag. I want to have an elaborate ceremony for this
like a wedding but more meaningful. I want a marble pedestal.
I want to hold my tote bag’s hand even though my father doesn’t
know I’m a lesbian. I need the pope to be there to officiate
because my tote bag is Catholic and she’d love that shit.
I need Pope Francis to ask,
Do you want to stuff your tote bag full of spring salad?
In New Jersey in front of my family, I need to cut off the pope.
Do you want to stu—
I do. Goddammit, I do