Kim Kardashian pulled her jeans down
to expose her bare buttocks and thong
for a magazine cover-shoot.
I tried to press pause on this poem right away
but my hands malfunctioned.
On another page she stands in tattered boxers
and torn t-shirt with an expression
that communicates Don’t touch me.
To my surprise the magazine is a mail order catalog.
I can purchase my own Kim Kardashian.
I can order my own reality show empire
and melodramatic life.
I can order make up and creams
and other skin care products.
I can order boxers and t-shirts.
Lingerie and other intimates.
There are no desktop publishing boxes
that explain how to cancel this subscription
to save the trees I cherish.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney