Silly Old Man Acting the Young Fool

 

The green on your shoulder

Is worth all their papery property taxes

And then some. They cash in every friendship

As if it were nothing more than a

 

Ripened apple for pie. Get rid of

The thing before it begins to

Rot into some unworthiness. But that doesn't make our

Merriment in each other's company any the less

 

Appealing on this fine sunny

Afternoon. That's all I'm saying and

That's all I'm after. I've lived to this

Buzzing moment here with you and find any

 

Painful stab in the road's rib

Has been worth it. The sun,

Even this wounded one, is not frozen to the

Sky for anyone special, but I'll paint a little

 

Picture and hang it on

A cloudy wind just for fun decoration.

It doesn't have to be an enormous hit

Song you know, it's just how I feel

 

About being here with you.

Well, I see the green has

Sparkled over into fading golden waves. I'm equally delighted

To make your acquaintances. Here we go again. Ah.

 Well.

Bonus poems:

We Are Sly

We are sly, they tell us so, but they don't know us.

It's so hard to believe in anything they say. The world is

full of wars that ended the world, but you're still always on

your own. That's about all there is to know, and you can

discover it a dozen different ways. Climb a rock, surf an ocean,

haunt a heart. These days have all been ceremoniously named and the

 

saddest hours have been shackled, cooked and reconstituted, but the snow covered

hills you followed on your way home from school may not be

there the next time you look for it. The picture becomes the

ruined launderette. The picture becomes a map that doesn't make much sense.

The picture becomes something you used to cover up your head. The

picture becomes a beautiful dream lost in a paper bag. We are

 

sly, but they are disappointed in everything. We are sly, but we

don't hate anyone for the sport of it. Maybe that is a

repetitive plea for help, but it's sincere. The laughing world changed course

without any sailors being honored for their service just the same. The

picture becomes a danger to yourself. Even the rain is blue without

you in its parade, but that's another empty apartment. Now there's this.

How Many

by Darryl Price