Poem: Strawberry Cupcakes

Baby, oh yeah
What do ya what?
Your cakes, baby (yeah, those cakes)
Racing, sashaying with three good wheels and a bubblegum-laced cart
Yeah, I am racing with my purple tiered hat, the one that disguises me
and turns this handicapped game cart into my own Hollywood Raceway, one hand
on the steering wheel, the fidgety-sticky surface, and another waving to
the Guyanese lady with the grey stripe down the middle of her hairline, she nods
as she polices the crowd from her $2 Made-in-China-shipped-to-Wal-Mart chair
The sniff sniff of day-old fried chicken and blue cheese crumbles makes the
babies begin to cry,
They wouldn’t cry if they had one of my strawberry cupcakes
He tells me, half-seriously, Come on now I’m hurrying
Strawberries ashamed of their hometown, sugar-coke, hormone-free eggs
Poufs of flour thrown in the air, imagine kids that snowstorms come inside
This Candyland, where M I A is the Peppermint Stick Forest’s fairy godmother
And the Gingermen take your photo in the restrooms
Mix it, stir it, smoothness out of clumps of madness, pink riverbeds pouring in
I’m riding this amazing heat wave out over at the Molasses Swamp, sticky indeed
Oops, I did it again, and again and again and again,
I’m pissing off Queen Frostine again with my nonchalance, late again she says
Yeah but I got the goods I tell her, settle in hotcakes look, foil unwrapped
In a barely lit theater, and despite the blackness and the delay, an impish smile
Appears, yeah that’s what I’m talking about, a couple of sinful girls smiling
Over strawberry cupcakes, the kind that makes everyone twitch backwards to
see the competition.