We are tired of
washing things
so we quit our jobs
and travel
making out and
littering wildly.
We survive on winnings
from hot dog-eating
contests
and also, hot dogs.
I smell like
sauerkraut.
I think you still love
me.
You grow cocky and
enter
any competition you
can find.
Spelling bees.
Triathlons.
Fishing derbies.
We can’t lose.
All our fathers
Are finally
proud.
I tell you I want to
settle down,
build a castle for our
trophies.
You build a glass
display case
and strap it to my
shoulders.
I accidentally leave
it behind at a rodeo.
You burn my eyelashes.
When I finally win
Miss Teen USA
I am immediately
disqualified
because of my age and
marital status.
The judge snaps my
tiara
and hands you the
pieces.
You glue them together
and crown the
runner-up.
She nuzzles your
chest.
You propose and
everyone cheers,
even though she is
only fourteen and
I am standing RIGHT
THERE.
Like any disgraced
pageant queen,
I am gracious.
I shake her hand and
hope
it rains for the rest
of her life.










