I look at photos and videos of Burning Man and try to picture myself there.
I try to picture myself in a bikini and steampunk goggles and dreadlocks.
I look down at my feet and imagine wearing Birkenstocks with said bikini and
it doesn't feel right. I don't feel comfortable. I want to dress more like an
American tourist with a faded Yellowstone shirt and Minnie Mouse ears with Elvis style sunglasses. For the bottoms it will probably be Star Wars Pajamas as that is
probably what I will find at Walmart or Target late on a Friday Night
after my husband is home and can feed the kids some pizza.
I worry I will get Asthma if I go to Burning Man. Will there be enough water and do they have Dr. Pepper available if I get really hot and thirsty? I close my eyes and imagine I am riding a bicycle in the desert with my Minnie Mouse ears and it's really great for a minute or two but then a dust storm appears and I am coughing up some sand-phlegm that is an egg- colored mess and people ride away in an opposite direction from me on their tricked out bicycles, one of which has a Harley Davidson engine. It is really loud and the fumes give me a headache and I forgot to bring ibuprofen. I really want to lie down but I'm afraid women in dreadlocks or men in silver Speedos will force me to read Burning Man propaganda in a falsetto voice into a camera or eat a key lime pie made from playa sand. I want to go home now. I want to watch commercials on my couch and be left alone.
About Melanie Browne:
Melanie Browne is a poet and fiction writer living in Texas. She has weird dreams about celebrities, so she needs to stop reading so many National Enquirer articles. Her work can be found in various places such as Pulp Metal Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Poetry Superhighway.
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