My Kohl’s Bathrobe

At first I thought, no;

I don’t want this muppet-skin in my living room,

I can’t be this kind of polyester fleece octopus, besides

when it eventually dies and goes to ground it will shed

plastic fragments through the ecosystem, a stye for a

fish’s eye, a squid’s hairball, a clog in Poseidon’s drain.

But it already lives, this pulsing blue animal, in a glitter stamped Santa bag, with my name on it, now I must care for this heavy extension of the night sky,

deep navy, now I live always at a hotel, cinched at the waist, the furs of the undead thing clinging to my dry skin, crackling with its private energy source, now when I gesture, the tip of my finger holds new power, a light switch, a brief kiss, a minute explosion


Kohl’s Racine Wisconsin Night by Heather David
Via Flickr:
Architects: Jordan Miller and George Waltz