A DIFFERENCE OF GREEN
Perpendicular to nothing, my dear
you resemble a corn flake I once saw.
Shouldering that burden of niceness with
the ultra-shine on the shoes. All these
birds, they fly away at dusk. Sometimes
I watch them, other times not. I just always
trust they'll be returning again. There's a
guy I know, named Phil, who writes funny,
comedic poems. Sometimes I try to laugh,
but it's just not there. He comes from money.
I know his sister too, who lives in Princeton.
The Willow Street Blues. I. Call. It. But
it's really just a difference of green.