Breadcrumb #393


One of the highlights of elementary school was the variety show. It was a grand production led by Mrs. L. She instated the stage crew, talent selection, emcee, art, and all the production equipment. It was held in the afternoon on Friday and parents and siblings sat in rows of metal chairs. The entire 3rd and 4th-grade chorus sang: “We welcome you all to our variety show. Lots of different things to see before you go…and don’t forget to cheer for the stage and art crew. That’s what God wants us to do.”. I recall doing a skit with two other boys, J. and T., for a ‘modern’ rendition of some boy band. We danced and sung into a fixed microphone; K. was watching my shoddy routine. Some others sung, read poetry, performed talents one could only dream of. K. and her friends performed something similar, like cogs in the machine of 90’s pop culture. I forget who won the ‘best act’; I think it was an underclassman singing a show tune. I sat far away from K. for the remainder of the show.

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Breadcrumb #77


You're not supposed to go to the zoo
by yourself — like movies or dinner at a fancy restaurant —
the orangutans will look at you different
Because why would you come here alone
and stand among the school trips, family
outings, and first dates and have no one to talk to
about how similar we all are or explain
that National Geographic article
to in a way that is duly impressive
and says to the person, "I have read National Geographic.
I have not just scanned it for the low-hanging tits
and unmanicured cocks of indigenous peoples. 
I am learned and you should want to fuck me." 
This hulking, orange matriarch is indifferent to your
subscriptions. Her eyes are older and darker than people
you know and she asks, young crawling about her,
what the purpose of you is, without your tribe
in the monkey house on a Sunday afternoon.

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