Pygmalion Barbie

Over lunch Barbie is telling me all her plans,
How she is trading Boise Ken for Honolulu Ken,
Still lives at home Ken for metrosexual Ken,
Fed Ex Ken for minor league baseball player Ken.
She tells me how they are going to live at the beach,
Surf every day, party,
Thursday through Saturday nights for the next three years
And then they are going to make babies.
A gypsy fortune teller told her this would happen.
I listen to her with my faux bionic ear.
I watch her like a pirate with my un-patched eye,
With patched hair
And other sundry body damage.
There's not a sweater around my neck,
Only my nappy prehistoric pelt.
With my kung-fu grip
I could take hold of the gypsy's crystal ball
And crush it into a diamond for her,
Yet in its multi-faceted reflections
She would still only see beach and babies,
Because she is Barbie
And I am not Ken.
I'm just plain ol' Joe
With a kung-fu grip.