Chardonnay Bottles, Pink Swarovski Clip-Ons, and Dory Previn On the 8-Track


Suburban marriage is a Ponzi scheme,

Tract house deductible--

Cape-Cod Cobalt subsidies plaster Adirondack Lawn-chairs and cul-de-sac kids;

The coiled hand ties of Plastic Inertia, Tupperware,

And Infancy.

Doric Columns are the threshold to our Über-American



2:00am; the D.A.'s voice is like Gaza in my ear. It's the evening of my sweet sixteen 

And the dawning of my father's indictment. 

Tonight my mother is a mermaid.


Chardonnay bottles, 

Pink Swarovski Clip-Ons,

Dory Previn on the 8-Track.

My mother backstrokes nude in our fiberglass pool. 

This, is the lazy insurrection of a beauty queen.


2:00pm; I'm twenty-three.

"Dad, what of marriage?"

"That bitch is sittin' on all our money over at UBS."

My father does not know.

She hasn't touched the account.

Her brain is wet

I drive over to her apartment twice a week

And comb her golden hair.