I want to watch one bad movie
after another, and when I’ve seen them all
I will read all the bad books, the bad, rubbishy
books with their stock characters and ridiculous plots,
and then I will listen to Europop—
no, country music, I’ll listen to Europop and country music
and the entire back-catalogue of Celine Dion while I eat
triple cheeseburgers, grease running down my chin.
I want to grow fat and to start smoking.
I want to stub out my cigarette in a fried egg,
I want to live in that Hitchcock movie,
which isn’t a bad movie at all, but more like the ones
we watched when we watched movies,
not art-house exactly, but VistaVision kitsch—
how we loved the beautiful actors, their quick,
brittle voices, their antique brio. We grasped
their warm hands. The room filled with snow.