Leaving Sofia

My Dad kept telling me

To become a minimalist.

I told him

It wasn’t my style.

The gatekeeper, an ogre,

Checked me, by proxy.

She-devil, she said,

”Twenty-three!  Not thirty-two!

One bag!  Not two!”

”I cannot choose!

I cannot choose!”

But choose I did.

And I ripped

my eyes out

and squirted her

with pupil-juice,

pulply, and purple.

”Looks like you needed

Some Taste,” I said,

and merrily

went on my way.

Guess what happened at the airport.