Lady Gaga Looks like Aunt Linda

Two teen girls on the cornerin matching violet puffers.

Two white lions archedinside          the bags underneath my eyes.

Aunt Linda was all, life sucks let’s go shopping.You can make a statement using just yourmind.           An iconic Italian design.

When I asked who your favorite aunt wasand you were all, “Aunt Angela’s my favorite,”and I was all, “Aunt Annemarie’s my favorite,”and you were all, “Aunt Linda’s my favorite,”and I was quiet, because you had trumped me.

We were trying to name the prettiest auntbecause it’s prettiness that counts

when it comes to aunts, and to sunsets, to women poets,and feminist selfies,           the golden lioness.

Sisterhood is really something.Cousinhood is really something.Rooms full of women poetson the Internet         in the glass of Aunt Linda’s boudoir.

I go into Jamba Juice, I order the Peach Pleasure,I don’t tip ’cause why would I.

We played cowboys and Indians in the basement,Aunt Linda was all, pretend you’re eating bakedbeans straight from the pot.

The cactus pricked my hand all the way to the center.The babies died but everything else stayed alive.

At Christmas I’d cry at the top of my lungsthat my presents weren’t pretty enough, and they weren’t.

It’s prettiness that counts in china dolls, and plastic pink perfume,and alexandrite earrings at the bottom of a well,and mood rings red enough to poison a room.

Aunt Linda got me a pink crystal prism for my window,I was like, is it real diamonds?

I wasn’t selfish, even if it sounds that way.I post pictures of myselfall over the Internet          pitchers full of my self.

Aunt Linda if you think it’s weird,it’s ‘cause it’s really, really weird.

Lavender eye shadow.The dirt fell out the bottom.Your makeup mirrorlight           went from evening, to day, to night.