Sunday, April 13, 2014

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.

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