37/365: Ed Norton Fantasy Poem #5, Beyoncé's Thighs

Ed Norton came to me last night.
He sat right down on the end of my bed,
grabbed my big toe, and hissed really loud.
It's a joke he and I have.
He pretends to be a vampire bat biting my big toe.
It's our bit.
Also, that's where vampire bats bite people in real life.
Anyway, Ed Norton came to me, and he said,
"So, are you up?",
and I said, "Duh, Ed, you woke me up,"
and he said, "Good,
because we have to talk about Beyoncé's thighs."
"Sweet Jesus, Ed, what is wrong with you?"
"Nothing. It's just that Beyoncé's thighs are really important."
This is when I pulled my toe out of Ed Norton's hand and sat up,
because when Ed Norton says
Beyoncé's thighs are really important,
he means it.
"So, what's up with her thighs, Ed?"
"Her thighs are thick and strong, like really strong."
"So?" I asked.
"They kind of terrify me.
Her thighs tell me that, even though I really like them,
they are no one's but hers.
Those thighs will mess you up."
"So?" I asked.
"No one owns Beyoncé's thighs, Elan."
"Shut up, Ed."
"No one owns Beyoncé's thighs, Elan."
"Jesus Christ, Ed."
"Women could own themselves soon," Ed Norton said.
"Aren't you terrified?"
"No, Ed, I'm not," I said.
"Beyoncé's thighs could shift the nature of reality as we know it."
"Dear God."
"Hisssssss," said Ed Norton.
"Your vampire bat impressions suck, Ed."
And then he got up off my bed and left without saying goodbye
like we were in a goddamned movie or something.
I think I need to ask for my apartment key back.

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