Tonight, the TV reports, herds of cattle throw themselves into the flames of the Amazon and roll out in batches from an oven at click to deliver. Mother is still scrubbing the dishes at the sink, her hand rotating slowly as I eat my burger. My friend calls to say she got the job at the big oil and gas company. She asks if I want to celebrate with her at the new vegan restaurant in town. I take the train to meet her on the 14th. My god, you’re big, she gasps. It’s the new hormonal birth control, now where is that damn restaurant. She orders a broccoli and I order a leg. After my fifth vegan I realize that my friend is gone. In fact, the whole restaurant and the streets surrounding it had disappeared, and I could touch the tip of the empire state building when I stretched my am. I keep eating until I break off from the East Coast and float away. Soon anarchists and queers come and build houses on me. They grow tomatoes and chase chickens for fun. I miss mother. I hope my sister helps her with the dishes sometimes.
Artwork by Marcel Dzama Untitled, 1999.