Huey on Beauty by Kai-Lilly Karpman

Good morning. I am a beautiful man—thank God, I guess. Religion doesn’t speak to me.

The sun rises, waking me like a dear friend might. Coffee can boost your cortisol levels—never touch the stuff. My sister is always drinking it, and she’s exceptionally neurotic. I’ve heard her scream at people on the phone. You should tap nutrients from the day’s light instead, like our ancestors did. They didn’t eat cream cheese, like my mentally ill sister.

I go for a run and enjoy it. My stomach does not hurt. One guy from runclub was bitching about “hemorrhoids,” but I literally don’t know what that is. People love to complain about their knees, too. They don’t eat enough sea moss. After the run, I feel great. This is what it means to be alive.

Fresh fish and citrus. I get a pokey bowl from the new place on Grand. I don’t want a sandwich. Those clog up your pipes. It turns my stomach when people smell like bread- they might as well be eating gum for all the good that does your digestion. I bring my food back to the house, where my sister is in the kitchen, making a grilled cheese. Seriously, I worry about her.

“That dairy is making you puffy,” I tell her. She does look puffy, but still sort of like me.

Like if I was stung by a bee, and had a softer build.

“Why would it? I’m not allergic, Huey.” She doesn’t want to hear about inflammatory diets again, so I go for a nap and wake up around 4 PM. Someone imagines they are napping with me. I don’t feel bad for them.

When I wake up, I have no plans. Here’s the thing: I really hate committing to plans.

Something better always comes along, and I can’t stand when people are disappointed with me or moody or soft. I just wait for the right people to make me an offer. Sure enough, Una texts me and asks to see if I want to get drinks with her and her friends. People say she’s in love with me.

Wouldn’t that be a drag?

Una and four other beautiful women order a pitcher of margaritas for us. They are all

thinking about my penis, which is fine. The only thing better than a beautiful woman is a

beautiful man. Everyone knows that. My penis is fine, and it’s clean and happy. I think

women love to be around it. It makes everyone feel better to know it’s there, like a life jacket

under your seat. One woman said my penis reminds her of hotel bedding.

I make friends with the waiter at the restaurant. He names a drink after me— The Blue Champion. He probably wants to impress the girls. Beautiful women don’t sway me like that. I will see more beauty later. The world always opens for me. It’s a conveyor belt of beauty, beauty, and beauty.

On the way home, I look out the window and see a woman filling up her car with gas.
The Uber driver won’t stop talking to me about Egypt. It doesn’t sound like somewhere I’d enjoy.

I prefer Cabo. The woman keeps looking at me. Her pants look uncomfortable. She meets my eye and frowns. I’ll never understand women like that. If they wanted to be happy, I could have helped them. The light turns green, and I’m free from her. Not surprising, I guess. Ugly women are never very nice to me.

Kai-Lilly Karpman has studied at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop and holds an MFA from Columbia University, where she also received a fellowship. She has poems published in or forthcoming in Plume, The Rumpus, Image Magazine, Florida Review, and elsewhere. She was a finalist for Georgia Review’s 2024 Lorraine William’s Poetry Prize. Her collection, “Life Cycle of Cruelty,” was named a finalist for the 2024 Trio House Press Louise Bogan Award. Her lyrics have appeared in Marvel Studio’s “Mz. Marvels” and “The Marvels” soundtrack.