Watching How with Long Hair I Am Accepted by the Nevada Four
We come from where women fistfight Four against none. We are passionate about blimps. The parking lot Of the In-N-Out Burger drunk and mock lit: Four adorable girls and I crush no one’s teeth To the green curb. We wolfpack the takeaway tray. A blimp could end this Curb-stomping. We could stop, Rubberneck back, and O if a leaning blimp Would moon through this Reno-Sparks AM Thick with the thump of half-neckpunch, Half-I-love-you. The idea of a blimp is thick in us. Only a blimp will do. We wait. We can’t wait. We fiend the newness of Levi’s and blimps that don’t show. We hurricane inside and thumb murals of packet-mustard Upon our foreheads. Then, as if from outer space, A mini-blue hand-fan buzzing in each fist, a naked man Drifts in as if not naked, banks a soft-left at the restrooms, Hovers before the register, And orders a root-beer float from the secret menu.
