Written by R.S. Janes
The philosopher debutantes
were gathered at the mall
He has a nice car, said one,
But he makes my skin crawl.
Batting eyes at a window reflection
another mentato said,
Chips buff but, like,
he doesnt have any money
and without money youre dead.
Does my ass look fat in these jeans?
Another in the gaggle snapped
head turned backwards
to admire her pants
that rode just south of her
Like, stop being so vain, girl,
one of her colleagues carped
as she stopped to smooth her hair
without a mirror,
vanity bumbling around in the dark.
Another piped up,
What about Einsteins theories on time?
which brought the rest to a dead halt,
eying her like a freak-show mystery
floating in a jar of brine.
They stared at her for a moment
perhaps pondering her query,
then Jeans Girl offered,
So, anyway, like, Brad asked me out again,
her statement dropped thick and weary.
As her jeans worked themselves down,
gravity itself was on display
showing a sliver of red thong strap
between her adolescent bass cleft
two kittens in a bag at play.
Oh, exclaimed Thongie,
top so tight she mustve been
breathing through gills,
this is all, like, such a bore,
and you just know
the Bohr wasn’t Nils.
R. S. Janes
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