Laura E. Hoffman Superstar I was always Karen Carpenter on karaoke Sundays at the pirate bar by the bay my glorified fuck buddy the artist would turn away from my plaintive singing to light Camels in the wind my cheap plastic cup wine buzz warmed me against the chill that swirled naked off the saltwater I loved him in the most improbable ways down to his magnificent pigeon-toed foot but he was cold as the frosted blades of grass I stood on a soapbox & sang songs that I never owned wishing I was the one suspended in oil on his canvas