But I should be watching The Golden Girls.
Is it the one where Dorothy has had enough,
kicks Rose with her flat-soled slouch boot,
hard enough to send Rose spinning out
onto the lanai? Meanwhile, Blanche
is looking foxy, sipping a julep, but
secretly nursing some rueful discontent
that will bubble up into a rage against
Sophia, who clutches her wicker purse
and mutters something incomprehensible
about palm trees, the heartbreak of
being immortal, actually unable to die.