elsa usually wears petticoats. today
she decided to don bubble-wrap
around her curves, a yellow rose
in her hair, and a smile
which proclaimed devastation
at nirvana's doorstep: samsara
crushed under lotus leaves,
if you will. a purloined kerchief
thrown to the wind
to land on
johann, a bald fat man. a bespectacled
office chump champion. a true champion,
y'hear? he wears braces still, pushed-up
socks and shorts too short
even for him. he mutters about
politics, the cost of cheese
and that girl he always sees
walking past his window named
elsa is tired from pumping her
legs up queen street. her bubbles
are popping, screeching
at old ladies destined
for the haberdashery store:
stop! they say, outta
my way! move!
or be mown
by my caterwauling
senile grimace!
and off they go
to pick up some sherry
to have with other
toothless old fairies,
like
johann, you wouldn't call him
a sterile bandage, a balanced
meal of meat and veg. you
wouldn't say he likes
his turnips
or the taste of freshly
baked bread. but
you'd tell him
he needs to
trim his moustache
to look his best
for any young ladies
elsa and johann
johann and elsa
they'll never meet
they'll never meet
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Submission Name: elsa and johann
