On Losing a Sun Tan

Batter bold,

Fried golden woman behold.

Fried is only a letter away from friend

Friend when a letter?

Fat and meat must refrigerate; I was told.

You are fat and meat; I was told.

“The thickest skin is fried chicken,”

Thinks this chicken woman.

“Sexy isn’t crispy; it’s cold

Real cold.”

Out I slide the metal refrigerator shelves,

Feeling metal my selves.

I fold heels to butt, knees to chest,

Thighs to my stomach fold. 

What butt?

But nature at her joints cut.

Mycology cries for attention, “Mold!

Come mold!”