He folds tiny leprechauns from green tape;
rests them on the edge of the wineglass where they
balance like tiny drunk Irishmen. He declares
the superiority of orange to green,
Cheetos to leprechauns–hard to dispute,
it’s a game of rock, paper, scissors
you say guacamole, he says peppers
You say limes, he says poppies,
After midnight and wine, and he’s packing for New Mexico, boxes
and belongings strewn about. Color somehow interrupts
all your talk, math, randomness, philosophy, the duality of the universe.
Color and prisms. Green packing tape, red box-cutter,
blue-stemmed wine glasses, yellow highlighters form a circle.
Oh, and that explosion of orange he says rules the world.
Cheetos crumpled in a little pile.
His apartment offers nothing: bread gone brown with mold.
Brown boxes, brown furniture. A lamp, black vulture hovering
in the corner, watching darkly and waiting…reminding
of the blackness he’ll travel through, the headlights hitting
the green mile-markers that take him further from you,
the million stars hang hot over him in the open desert.
This then, the way the greenback dollar changes your fate,
takes those you love into the orange sunset… sure, maybe
to a land of enchantment, the candy pink skies of New Mexico.
Orange construction cones slow his journey
to a bright brash future, and you want to tell him–just plow through them,
bust them up like a green teenager with a red Camaro.
F*cked how the dollar, hardly green at all, almost black and white
changes the destined, pulls towards chaos, shifts spectrums
from orange to green to the past. Time maybe, all that’s green
gone gold, will somehow come back, bring one traveler to evening,
even with the sun growing colder and flaming out fiery toward
the tiny satellites that spin around our blue Earth…does the green
of the valleys still shine the way it did once, with thick golden
trees, leaves brushing in our hair, our hands and knees stained with crushed grass
and our laughter ringing out across the old subdivisions?
Did we drink the green wine, did we do
what we were supposed to?
We’re children in bodies slowly falling away,
time and wishes held deep in our dark blood.