Plastic Parade (a poem)

duck-face-mom-yearA-typical Rolex submariner sits on the dad’s wrist like a beacon of arrival,
his too-tight Ed Hardy tee sticks to his cross fit chest like an extra layer of skin.
those hours in the gym, the broccoli, the grilled chicken, the spinach salads……
Eyes scanning the crowd looking for that 25 year-old who hasn’t yet sunk the botox into her forehead

Wifey to his left, flipping her platinum dyed hair again and again and again
She, looking for someone to make fun of, looking for someone to help her feel better about her collagen duck-faced lips,

her third tit job, her fourth anal bleaching, her fifth affair with a new trainer,Tattoo reads “MILF” along the panty line that only a select 50 or so willing erections get to see.

She, peering at the younger women while licking her lips with the misguided confidence of an American Idol contestant

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