that So Cal
When Death spits in your detergent…
You plaster smiles as you would walls with floral print.
But whatever happened to the kid with the crayon?
you’d slap the wall like masonry and declare it your “castle.”
When life axed your easel, you held on;
the world was worth such a dream
Junk became blocks to build from and boy, did we tower.
You’d color your drinks and draw names like “seaweed and spider’s milk” or “too blue to care how it tastes.”
But you’re not the friend with whom I split Easter’s spoils;
Nor the fool that dared swap my share for ink-laden eggs.
Who are you, stranger, to ignore me?
Who are you, sir, to propose I forget?
Who are you, sick as you are, to toss me away?
Here I am, raining down judgment with a pen;
I wish you held your ground with a brush.
There is power in the pen.