If you love me, then write me a space opera.
Invent me pirates in silver ships, and tough-but-incorruptible space police with antique earth-guns and rumpled loyal cats who are getting bored out here, in space with their space-mice and that same dwindling supply of salmon treats brought over from home last year. They’re starting to mold, those treats. Write me a space heroine with firm but not-intimidating breasts (make it three breasts! Why not!) and a costume with ruffles that trap deadly swarming space-bees in their silver-pink folds. I’ll have no planetary romance with Jacks or Dirks. Give me Bucks and stars and sagas.
...Also, I like those little praline seashells from Godiva.
Either way.
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6 comments:
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This is my favorite Carla poem.
I, too, have loved Godiva praline shells, in my time.
This is meant as a gesture of thanks to The Curator and all of her brilliance in the China-Lady poems.
Daniel and I were just talking - I see your cheetos haikus in David's puke poem, and I can feel the Chinese poems in this one - first when the cats come in, for some reason.
Curator's comment as she was falling asleep last night, something like: "Carla's poem is awesome. I love it... the form that lets you ask somebody to invent you a space opera, and then go on to invent it yourself..."
Yeah I was going to leave that as a comment but Thi already got it in there.
But yeah, that.
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