curse in Klingon
wipes her brow with a plain white
handkerchief
as lightly armed
gladiactors in the rainbow arena
skate to k.d. lang
subject puts fingers in ears, sings
chap, chap, this chap, nice old chap…
I’ve maintained lordosis
since Christ had croup
and still my back aches but no more
navel-gazing
my body fluids circulate
my mind’s alert
if most of reality’s in the future
then it’s time to face the music
the cognoscenti of Middle Earth
curse in Klingon
plough viridian dales
their human brothers run the gauntlet naked
past paparazzi their sparkling cameras
while memory the centrifuge
spatters ink from tabloids
in fine lines across the ceiling
rose