Sized fourteen woman—shops in an exotic land,
a jungle. She eyes the belted waistbands
of size ten tiger striped pants with desire;
snakishly long dresses, tags say six, require
tucked in stomachs, bellies must not expand.
Then, the perfect tube top. Imagine suntanned
shoulders, iced coconut and rum, soft sand.
Size two, bright as a parrot, the entire
top perfectly fits—her arm, sized fourteen.
She searches racks and shelves for contraband.
The saleswoman, size four, doesn’t understand,
but directs her to elephant racks of sapphire
and neon orange striped muu muu type attire.
Full bodied, empty handed, she finds the foodstand.
One salad, size two, please. The price? Size fourteen.
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