FABLE Poem: For Beauty, by Ayla Agha

This is how to wear lipstick: twin smears on apples of the cheeks, tip of noise.
[Blend with pinky in vaseline.]

This is how to moisturize: greasy coats of baby oil and cupcake coconut butter.
[Repeat till skin is soft and slippery, i.e sweet-smelling eel.]

This is how to take a bath: boil water, rock salt soap, charcoal body scrub.
[Scrub till skin is a raw, red thing, really clean.]

This is how to have dinner: stuck in traffic, in car he ordered, [President’s in town, streets barricaded,] the restaurant, Italian, Upper East Side is empty. You’re alone and relieved because he’s Mr. Prince, 69, from New York, and the old Sugar Baby account you never took too seriously.

This is how to throw up: in restaurant bathroom, regurgitate shrimp linguine, brown chunks of balsamic mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes, anchovies, delicate red apple crescents, go back to the table, polish off bottle, wash down with whiskey digestive. This is how to go back: to his place for dessert wine, so sweet, like apple juice, but not the watered-down kind for kids, listen to him talk about his kids with learning disabilities, kids older than you now, medicated for over two decades, he was so proud—They caught it young.

This is “how to disappear” plays over the speaker. He has put on Lana, a condom, and by the chorus, you are all done.