Barbie and Ken
by Juliana Theis
Barbie was going on a date,
with Ken. She hadn’t thought
about if she wanted to go on a date
with Ken. But then again,
she really hadn’t thought at all.
She hadn’t wanted to go on a date
with Marge either, because in this playroom,
there was no Marge. Just Ken,
and Barbie, and their plastic dog
with the three puppies,
and Barbie’s orphaned little sister.
What even is a date,
Barbie thought. A picnic, usually.
A playdate, where two friends
put on their prettiest clothes,
ate arts-and-crafts food by the lake,
and then had a sleepover.
What is a sleepover,
Barbie thought. Well,
that one was obvious.
Barbie would wear Ken’s shirt,
and Ken would say goodnight,
and Barbie and Ken
would drift off to sleep, limbs hanging
off the too-small dreamhouse ledge.
Barbie didn’t understand
why she was afraid to wear Ken’s jacket,
or let him walk her home
from The Toybox. But she was,
and she did. Because she was Barbie.
And he was Ken. And this
is what was told on the back of the box.