by Tonie Roque

When the call comes I have been rejected so often I have scaled over
And crusted up
I was too weak for the Extra Strength Tylenol audition
Too flat for Bud Lite
Too dull for the Japanese toothpaste
Inevitably, not spic enough for Taco Cabana
And sadly, too tranqued to weep on cue for the
Hallmark Hall of Fame flick - though I did cry all the ride home from Dallas.

And nothing I am is enough anything.

I show up on the set, broke and hopeful,
And they puff my hair into a glamorous cascading froth
And dress me in a beaded postage stamp
And direct me to stand on a 6th Street corner
Between two 9 foot tall blonde Barbie wet dreams
With legs born at their armpits
Each sporting a rack of floating buttery balloons
Mounded over and spilling out their little lycra tops.

I am four feet eleven inches of neurotic flatchested quivering brunette.
To the right and left of me I am head high to their tits.

A box is brought for me, Barbie's underdeveloped friend Skipper,
And I can't stand
It
So I hunker down in my scales and (nasty shameful Skipper)
Spit a bit of poison out.
A calculated look at Barbie 1 and Barbie 2 then
"It's just like Charlie's Angels and I'm the smart one."

And the director laughs.
And the Doublemint twins laugh.
And I shove down the shame that I had to put them down to do it
And climb up on my pedestal of power and we all say,
About a thousand times
"Want to hear a real woman's private thoughts live? Call me."

By Easter I will have played "the smart one" six more times.
And in honor of the pulsing unnamable quality that says "fuck me"
I take my old Barbie and with loving intent
Nail her to a bubblegum pink bejeweled cross still dressed in her sheer
Nylon panties and high heels.

She is martyred for my sins -
Not a real phone slut
But she played one on TV.