The couple at the bar wants to adopt me,
———even though I’m twenty-four, and I’ve just
ordered a White Russian, and my date’s
———waiting for me with his pitcher of beer,
and what was I thinking, ordering a drink
———with cream in it, but at least it’s not milk,
when the wife asks me to recite a poem—
———“Just a line,” she says. “I want to hear
your voice more,” as she calls her husband
———to come over, and I forget about my date,
wondering if these people are looking to make
———their celebrity fantasy come true, quenching
their desires for an Asian baby, only I’m not
———a baby anymore, despite what some men
———try to call me, and I can’t be a baby, because
I behave myself way too much, and I wonder if
———the three of us are actually starring in a play
of three acts: in Act I, my character meets them
———at a bar, and the wife character says she wants
to adopt me, but the audience knows, and I know
———what this woman and her husband really want
isn’t an adoption, but a three-way encounter, and
———hello, that’s the beauty of theater: the truth always
comes out. And question: is it considered Oedipal
———or Elektra if you bang someone who is playing
your parent? I’m asking for a friend, really, since
———I can’t say I’d do it, because I’m not anyone’s
fetish, and look, I get it. I hate clothes, and I might
as well be wearing a bib with my crop top and
———mini skirt, and I love the video of the drag queen
getting a bib in the mail, saying she’ll bedazzle it,
———rhinestoning it all over, and that would solve
at least two of my problems, and I’m drinking
———a cocktail with cream in it, but at least it’s not
milk, sitting atop a pool table, spreading my legs
———just a little, but not too much, reminding me of
time the Russian architect offered to buy me bulk
———candy if I watched a German film with him, and
no boy, no, don’t you dare try to buy me, and deep
———down, I’m really such a good girl, and in this three-
act play, I end up leaving the couple at the bar, alone
———with their fantasies, return to my date—chug his beer.
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