A heartvein throbs between her brows: Ketty-San’s
incensed another joke’s made at her expense,

With characters of granite schist, she hashtags a ban
on all such jokes, then they, her so-
called friends, pipe up: Why are you
            making such a stink
            on race?
You’re so post, you’re Silicon.

Scuttle back to her spot as sidekick chum.
Her lyric’s needed when they need a backup
            minor key,
to that lead’s blues that got no core
            (what a snore).

But what core is Ketty-San, sidekick chum?
Torn like tendrils of bloody tenderloin
floating in the sea, heart
            a stage set
            about to be struck—

All nightlong, she scribbles her useless esoterica.
All daylong, mumblecored, she meeps,
meeps along.