For Billy Pilgrim
“Stop stepping on my toes.” He says this the second I’m about to go: “Wow, you have such warm toes.” “I’m looking for the plunger,” I say, and I can already see the answer coming: “well, it’s not between my toes.” “Too bad," I think to myself. That would have been interesting. My husband kidnapped by the Tralfamadorians who urge him to make the pilgrimage to Dollywood. They can’t figure out what’s wrong with Billy and the Blondie. My husband goes: “in Dollywood, the ‘never mind’ replaces ‘so it goes.’ I myself was ‘in the meanwhile’ when the plunger sucked me into the defeatist discourse: stepped on toes or stabbed toes? He wants to know what I need the plunger for. “Nothing,” I say, “I just want it next to my favorite picture of a man of style.” “Karl Kapital” the caption says, referring to a good soldier who refuses to die. No 'so it goes' there. Lagerfeld in his library: 300000 books. I’m ready to swoon over so many zeroes. I dream of getting myself published by 7L. In French this goes like Cette Elle: This she. C’est elle. It’s her. Pink dolls have no toes. So it goes.