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| Rubber Babe |
| She�s there. Ever-present, omniscient. The things she does are soft like shadows. . . My emulations merely clumsy, unfortunate copies, like a broken mimeograph. She is all leather and vinyl on the hard church floor; lying next to me in my ribbons and lace. Christmas cards and Easter eggs are ours to taste. Raw, cracked open. . . bleeding lemony yellow goo. This was once a chicken, or so the vegetarians will tell you. Don't let their good intentions fool you. . . they are all just cannibals in denial. Now, as she licks herself clean on the kitchen floor She realizes that the kittens are scratching at the door. She smiles serenely as I put her away; In an air-tight box, my Rubber Babe. |
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