The frolicksome maids all have jobs in finance now.
The frolicksome maids are happy and fully self-actualized.
The frolicksome maids every so often still get up with each other
over añejo tequila sunrises. “Do you remember that little guy?”
Everyone remembers that little guy. Gulliver, was it?
How stuck up he was. How he didn’t realize
that he was just a literary device like everyone else.
Jen works at Sotheby’s now. She remembers
how the Queen of Brobdingnag looked as the little guy
stepped onto her spread royal palm. How indulgent.
Now Jen remembers how she placed him
on her breast, how he squirmed in disgust.
How she held him there with one finger
while he heaved and retched. She listens to the other maids.
The frolicksome maid remembers how we always
get what we want, and it’s too much or too little, or both at the same time.
Size Writes 