When Veronica Lodge says she wants ships,
named after her, not horses, I feel her hot
girl words deep in my bones, because why ask
for less than exactly what you want in this
universe, when you’re a woman of color living
in a white ass town, Middle of Nowhere, 
USA. I feel every hot girl word deep in my
bones, because in life, I’m most attracted
to people who show power without raising
their voices. I tell someone I could love
that the key to life is to walk into the room
like you’re the most important person. 
& I love you, Veronica, only you’re terribly
written, you seductress-of-small-town-

America-&-beyond, & keep taking Archie 
away from boring-blonde-next-door-Betty,
because there is no one more annoying than
a white girl who thinks everything belongs to
her, only that’s not how relationships work.
No one is taking anyone away from anyone—
we simply make our decisions. & in the next
season, V’s from Hollywood, not New York,
making me wonder about the legend of hot
girls rising from water—how our mythologies
are made from sugar & spice & strawberry
milkshakes in corner booths, like the night Kati
& I order marinated olives, & how the Red
Cerignola surprises us, but the best things in life

are red, also known as the color of luck
& love in Chinese culture. Someone
special in LA says that I’m luck & war
& power & love, reminding me of
the comics when Aphrodite leaves Ares
after the final straw, & like a boss, she 
finds Hephaestus, who builds her a Cupid’s
cannon. After all, the contrast between
lust & war gets old when the guy’s a sleaze
& you’re the star. & in the present booth,
our pizza of red sauce, mozzarella, cheddar,
pepperoni, and spicy honey comes. Rita 
and I laugh over our narrow booth: the kind
you can make out in—someone get us a show.