Everybody wears denim. A skirt embroidered
with cornflowers for Dollbaby. Jackets
for the boys. A hair bow for Thunderthighs
who flaps her arms above her head to scare
off the scrub jay that flits between her ponytail
and Bigmouth’s shoulder. Foureyes and Dogbreath
have masked their faces with the flag of South
Carolina. It all reminds Dollbaby of Horseface
that time he observed Tuesday tea with Lady Grey.
Egghead signals Thunderthighs with his laser
pen by waving four hundred and seventy
three nanometers across the stage. In her best
mock Joni, Thunderthighs begins to sing: “Dollbaby,
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Poems are like tattoos.”