Blue Day

He’s playing on the
cerulean carpet,
glowing that certain glow
of mischievous dogs
and happy babies
folded over themselves in glee
eyes over their shoulders
looking at you
just to see
if you notice.

He’s lost his black rattle
it’s rolled
into the yard
into the pea-soup of lichen
spread over hard earth.
It’s a collage out there
a collection of
that used to be things
years ago, when he
was a pup
when he was
an embryo.

He’s wondering
about the Siamese twins
with their conjoined
necks and fat lips
they used to come over
and play
but it’s been ages
and he’s forgetting their eyes
they’re a smudge
in his mind
though he can recall
their unique

He’s having a blue day
with a golden outline
the kind of day you
roll around in the ocean
and dry off
in hot sand
and sit on your haunches
watching the waves
bring in artifacts
wondering if today
is the day your
blackjack bone will
wash ashore.

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