sitting in the back of my dad’s old jeep, he’s talking to a friend he’s just met.  we’re in france for one of his conferences that i hate.  bored out of my mind and annoyed by the male conservativism that rules these places.  this guy is going on and on.  “God’s money?! Ha!” he scoffs, “I say gimme, gimme gimme! As much as I can take in! If I can get it, it’s mine.” my dad laughs and i tell this man that i fucking hate him and hope he dies. he tells my dad that i should be careful saying things i don’t mean.  i smile and tell him, “oh, but i did mean it.”
online, messing around with an app.  from a selection of bugs I choose a golden scarab, faint rainbows shimmering on its back.  a pair flies up, transforms, and becomes shoes on my feet. the shimmery winged backs now cushy tongues of my golden shoes.