by Yvette Stubbs
Bouncy up, bouncy up, bouncy up
plays on the radio
While my shoulders burn at me like a vivid pink desert.
Eeyaoh, eeyaoh, eeyaoh
She sings
The horizon sinks into a red orange custard
My piano spine concerts its own melody
I play patience into the game screen
scroll with my left, my right screams a discord
Spicy satay chicken
Smacks my nostrils
I note, the rice is still staccato white crunchy
Dinner will be late tonight, the conductor mistimed.