Monday, January 28, 2013
Museum
-It’s twenty years there for Carol.
-Hip hip etcetera!
-When she started she typed the little cards for
the displays.
-I remember that flying e from the old Underwood.
-You remember nothing! Have you ever been in there?
-Some fundraiser thing for Public TV. Weak champagne
and mini Ritz Crackers dressed up with tiny red and green
bits of crap. So-oh colorful! Nearly peed in ecstasy.
-Next time they’ll have Meatball Hoagies.
-Yeah! Accompanying FOOTBALL AND ANTHROPOLOGY, or some such shit.
-Couldn’t make it lowbrow enough for you.
-I’d like them to try. Along with your little icy friend.
-You’ve got her wrong—and just about everything else. She’s
no frozen spinster as you imply. Has a full sexual life, believe you me!
-Then the next display should definitely feature
our hot Carol. Bank of monitors showing her cunt.
-What do I see in you? A primitive!
-That’s what you see. Or rather, feel.
-If I thought, like it’s all sex, I’d commit suicide.
-It’s not. Don’t I bring you pretty flowers?
-Yeah! To get what you want.
-Isn’t that one museum circular? We could go there
and keep going round and round.
-My mother will hardly speak to me because of you.
-Power of prayer.
Labels: curator, museum, relationship, sex
