POPEYE ON VACATION IN THAILAND

Starring: OLIVE OYL and introducing COCONUT OYL as hirself

OLIVE OYL stared at COCONUT OYL as if sie were a bit of palm fruit slipping down a mound of shaved ice.

COCONUT OYL was less whitethan yolk

    Sie yolkedin hir jelly shoes hir jam

Congealed sie sparkledlike VitaMilk    (a sprinkle)

The bottom of OLIVE’s bottle burned, hir bitters slightly bitten.

Sie watched a chunk of COCONUT flick then melt in the pan.

“I wanna stir fry with you—

       —I do.”

A corner of COCONUT’s label was peeling off, stained with OYL.

OLIVE touched it with hir fingertips and began to pull—it didn’t catch or rip or roughen.

OLIVE’s pits quickened when sie realized the label was gonna come off clean—in one peel, even—and underneath sie peeped the galatic marbled milk of COCONUT’s stomach—pressed against the glass—slowly softening with OLIVE’s touch and turning slick.

OLIVE reached up to grasp the tab of hir own seal and give it a quick tug—it loosened and slipped off—cap and all.

COCONUT put hir lip around OLIVE’s top—lefty loosey—and felt the notches of teeth crik crik crik about hir neck—until COCONUT glimpsed the soft plastic of OLIVE’s spout.

COCONUT plucked a clump of hirself and pressed it to OLIVE’s mouth—clump by plop—until hir lip caked.

Glass to oyly glass they clinked and clunked.

OLIVE’s label oyled clear through—

COCONUT’s tin lid upturned on the concrete floor.