Love in the Time of Couch Potatoes
There’s a beach somewhere, and sea lions
that rub their backs on the boulders.
The thumb on the warm remote is mine.
In last night’s documentary, a historian
was trying to disprove the phallic
symbolism of brontosauri in modern art.
I never look when you’re down feeding;
a pack of hyenas converge for the kill.
Since the second rerun of Casablanca,
I’ve stopped wearing underwear in public.
There’s always a train to catch, and you
crave the taste of graffiti in tunnels.
Tonight a chef teaches bananas flambé,
mussels risotto in olive oil and wine.
Here everyone keeps saying, Don’t touch
that channel. We keep our hands on each
other, practice French with our tongues.
In Paris, lights go up and down the Eiffel.
Afterwards our backs are brailed with
buttons, and we fondle what to view next.
– Arlene Ang
from Words Dance 7, Spring 2005