Karol and Zoe think the art gallery
is a pyramid scheme.
They say modern artists
are soulless, tape and acrylic
in a trench coat.
We walk,
and I tell them I took pictures
on my digital camera.
They tell me I’m being kitsch.
I didn’t know you could be kitsch.
I look pencil-drawn,
vague,
in the reflection.
Karol and Zoe look tangible,
weighty,
velvety.
Karol and Zoe are talking about
the party tonight.
I am told my purple jeans
won’t go with their fur coats
and pencil skirts.
I don’t usually go to parties,
but I do tonight.
A girl with dyed orange hair
listens to me ramble.
She thinks I’m drunk.
The boy I like (this week)
tells me about his music career.
I’d prefer it if he walked away
and I could stand just outside the world
but never be a part of it.
Everything narrated
by Karol and Zoe.
