Most mornings,
I awake and scratch and
stretch, slink down
to the garage where
there are gallons wait for me
my rusty funnel and the radio
which plays morning edition
I pick a color that
feels like today
August is Salmon
October is Burnt Ember
December is Evergreen
But it's July, so emerald
and I slept pretty good
so maybe a little extra -
I tilt my head back and
lift the gallon with my curled arm
and shove the funnel deep past
my larynx, I don't even swallow anymore
just pour - the tears trickle into my ears
and that green glugs past my gums
a little coffee and some toast and
I'm in my car, off to work, as the sun
floats below the horizon
every few moments, I roll down
my window and
cover the sidewalk in latex shimmering
green, in splashes and spurts
on the street, on the cars beside, on
the feet of those passing by,
I shower them all with color
My superpower is pushing it all out
and decorating the streets with paint,
the graffiti from my insides plastered
for miles, like a dragon of art
throwing green flames -
keeping my toast down.