neft droomer

on the verandah, an umbrella farm
breeds entitlement and self loathing.
dipped in syrup, sold as paradise.
your ears are ugly, drooping again.
flick the lobe, swab the inner tube
for christ's sake
cecilia turntabled her margarita
rimming the edge for salt
with her tongue
peeking out from behind black sunglasses
perching for a facial expression
from tom, anything to know
she was getting under his fingernails
tom ignored her famously
he flagged down a waiter
the waiter bent down and tom
whispered something behind a hand curtain
cecilia sighed, grunted and lit a cigarette
sucking on it like a fish
the waiter returned with a silver plate
and set it down in front of tom
a razor, a bowl of lather, and a brush
tom took off his shirt
what the fuck are you doing
cecilia peeled away her sunglasses and stared
tom lathered up the brush
and began swabbing some onto his eyebrows
quickly and violently he tugged the razor
through the cream, shaved away his eyebrows,
snatched cecilia's margarita, spat in it,
dumped his plate of food over his head
and finally, hollandaise dripping down his
forehead into his eyes smiled wide and
spoke in a serene, melodious voice
i want a divorce