Gender Reveal
You were all invited to the gender reveal of my knives.
Cake was the only family to attend.
I shattered glass terrariums upon personalized placards.
Cursed the gods of snacks for taking so long to brand themselves woke.
The realtor I hired sent condolences in swathes of corporate regalia.
I placed printer cartridges up my urethra to piss contractual smiles.
“We’re sorry you feel”, the rest auto-tuned within 24-48 hours.
I took advantage of the rented trampoline by learning how to stay fucking put.
The nude who jumped from my hollowed out cake accused escalators of putting stairs out of
business.
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The Dolphin Lane Motel, Off-Season (1993-1996)
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... You were too young to remember any of this ...