“A sestina about pop culture, in the style of John Ashbury.”

Pluto hides behind static. We name things pop culture,  
parceling time into segments—albums or sitcoms—  
like fruits to swallow, their gloss pressed flat between the teeth.  
Monochrome superheroes drip from projected light,  
while an astronaut flexes a vintage lunchbox,  
scraping the echoes of prime-time laughter from the stars.

Jukeboxes foam with stars  
so bright they pressurize the calendar’s lid—pop culture—  
cutout dolls drinking rumors from the televised lunchbox,  
simulation of heartbreak in syndicated sitcoms,  
measured out in finely milled holograms of light.  
All waiting, stilled, behind the archipelago of our teeth.

We scroll and peel, dust accumulating in our teeth.  
Pixels swirl abstract among studio-lit stars,  
drifting like clouds through suburban panes of light  
to become what’s next, what’s now, what’s pop culture—  
a stutter of slogans sequined in self-aware sitcoms,  
nostalgia packed dry for your 1984 lunchbox.

Sometimes a sandwich, softening in a Star Wars lunchbox,  
seems more sincere than the tongues that catch in our teeth.  
We digest decade’s detritus, laugh-tracked by sitcoms—  
what is an icon, if not just one of many stars,  
contracted, collapsed, then boundless? Pop culture  
spinning in orbit, a disco ball pounding out light.

You said you’d study the language of light,  
translate the poetry brewing in an empty lunchbox,  
but distractions roll in: a new age of pop culture—  
emoji's semaphore, memes worn smooth as ancient teeth,  
the old gods retold as imported stars—  
reruns blazing between timelines and sitcoms.

“Wait,” someone asks, “where was the first sitcom?”  
Its shadow slopes elegantly, folding into light,  
and Hollywood sings its lullaby—naming new stars,  
selling charm in the crinkle of a cardboard lunchbox.  
Each fresh headline cracks, sweet between our teeth.  
People chant and remix—this is our pop culture.

Time’s lunchbox contains only echoes, filming fresh sitcoms.  
We carry our teeth through rerun-lit hours, angels of light—  
stars overspilling the constellations of pop culture.

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