Poem: Disengaged

Disengaged

Red tumbles over yellow till the

coupling turns orange.

Yellow and blue in a corner,

making a perfect green of themselves.

He has met the compound colors and

seen the tire tracks on their faces.

The two-two tango is natural,

as is poison oak, lyme disease,

an unfortunate strike of

lightning to the temple.

He has taken the trip and yeah,

it’s a thrill ride, a levitation,

a Valentine’s Day fuckfest.

But one develops immunities,

a need to up the dosage,

operational expenses, wear and tear.

Alternative medicines:

a rainy night in San Francisco,

the diminuendo of a soprano,

a dozen daffodils in a coffee cup.

A friend who thinks you’re brilliant.

A stylist who massages your scalp.

A dog who thinks you’re God.

This poem.

This line.

This ending.

Convergence

Sacramento, California

From the collection Fields of Satchmo

Photo by MJV