by Ryn Gargulinski

COLORFORMS

the world turned pea green
when i got
the e-mail that
he died not even poetic green
like London fog or something
you can write about but
soggy green like bad Wonder White bread.

the world turned blazing red
when a co-worker
who heard me gasp
said who died & I said
a fellow poet & she said
O, one of THEM.

the world stayed grey
when I called her a sickly
old bitch in my head but it
calmed down & it
tinted blue & it grew leaves
when I said
-- with conviction --
One of Us.

THOSE THINGS

it was one of those things
you just
don’t want to believe like
you were just in a car accident
and your dad’s van is totaled or
you really live in a roach-infested stink hole
it’s not just a dream or
a fellow poet you really liked died Monday
and you heard in your e-mail on
Wednesday
but you won’t find it credible
don’t want it to be
until someone else
announced it on Friday.

OF COURSE

I.

he told me
People Like That
when he’s on stage
and suddenly decides
to decide to rip up a poem
in mid-sentence saying
This Really Sucks
while throwing it to the floor.

he also told me later
that he keeps
the originals
at home.

II.

when he first heard
my poem mention
Flintstone
underwear he
chased me down
through the sulking bar
asking if I knew of
their plan to come out
with Underoos for adults.

as we laughed
at the thought
of anyone who’d want them
I decided I’d go with the Wonder Woman.

RED PANTS

i heard a fellow poet
who wears red pants chant
about the death of his poet
friend how he turned green,
poetically, on his deathbed
-- the same poem each &
everysingletime I saw him --
in his red pants chanting
of his green friend adding that
we all
are
future dead poets.