Triple Sonnet for Batman Villains and Whatever This Is
       

I want to judge a shirtless contest in Vegas
            poolside with my best friend, over Mai Tais
and shrimp tacos, because I'm a little sapphic,
            and let me just say: Cheers to our BDE forever,
girl. We're like 007's Bambi and Thumper,
            only undefeated, and in this fantasy, we'll keep
kicking Sean Connery's Diamonds Are Forever
            ass, or how Tommy Lee Jones' Two-Face in
Batman Forever was the luckiest man alive,
            with Sugar and Spice cooking him lemon souffle,
quail eggs, and poached salmon, and all the meats
            and heat—meats and heat, but what woman even
needs a man. Or men. Let's prance around in
            white feathered robes, and cheers to Drew Barrymore

            giving us sexy '90s villain fantasy, and how many
rappers will write songs about you in a lifetime
            is a question for only a legend. And I'm a little
sapphic, thinking about my first crushes on women,
            or how Taneum says that it's stupid when people
call them "girl crushes" when we know they're
            crushes—or maybe even true love, the idea that
we could be dripping in diamonds together, but
            you're just playing. I could play too. Let's go out
for sushi—a love boat filled with sashimi and Snow
            Beauty sake and mango mochi for dessert. I often
think about Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy sharing
            a Christmas tree and one-bedroom apartment in
Gotham, and it's beautiful how in recent timelines,

Harley doesn't go back to Mister J. Not all women
            want men in their lives. I remember Barbara asking
me what all these guys were doing in my poems.
            I don't know, B. I really don't know. Or how
one night, a lover asks about the first woman
            who loved me, L—how back in college we would
nap together naked and keep kissing until the sun set,
            and then I'd walk home wearing her flannel after
she redid my lipstick. Sometimes when I'm down,
            I search for that girl, walking home in the dark—
how at that age, I knew I'd take over the world,
            how at that age, I knew I'd never settle, because
there are too many fish in the sea. I still am that girl,
            swimming, searching—guided by the Ithaca moon.

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Copyright © 2022 Dorothy Chan All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission