Poem a Day: 13

Singed Sonnet

When did we first encounter the mood ring?

That thin slip of fake silver, with its flat

eye, a shiny blot, starting a black thing

and transforming, on our fat fingers, back

to a murky green or a dust dull yellow,

showing us our buried secrets -- our small

angers and hidden rages. We weren’t mellow,

we weren’t silently happy.  No, we all

uncovered under-skin fires, red hot

grudges and orange resentments, tiger stripe

frustrations, khaki boredoms.  We slipped on

the magic circles and, like lizards, striped

the colors of our inner walls, uncloaked --

at a single spot -- as burnt to the bone.