Pinky’s Sister

I was sitting around at home.
Minding my own business.
Pinky’s sister showed up.
She introduced herself as Pinketoon.
It sounded like a Canadian territory.
But out of respect for Pinky,
I ushered her in.
She couldn’t sit still.
She kept jumping up to point at something,
to exclaim, to announce, to draw her breath deeply and sharply and exhale.
She talked about art, design, politics, and lipstick or the lack of it in the world.

I toasted her a muffin.