for Dave Noble
I have always
believed love to be an emerald thing
grassy and douglas fir
a gem, everywhere, and sometimes prickly.
With this in mind,
I hang my green flags
the bonuses and beauties of me
dust them off
fly a few of them half mast on moody days
yank the cords, pull the rope
and hope for wind to notice.
Today, it's my arms
my loyalty, my laughter
the guy I held the door open for
a big tip I left, waves of neighbors
the faces in dreams I visited
the fashion of the blood in my heart
easily available for many
spread over friendships in gravy
because I am single.
But I can't talk about the green flags
of all my plus signs without the color opposite
the scarlets, the trampy rouges, the tacky fire engines
of my faults
my messy floors
aversions to chores and initiation of uncomfortable conversations
my darting eyes
the quick burn of my Aries flames
my zealotry for language
the way money moves like dirty water through my hands.
Red flags are one of the reasons I believe love to be
not the color of blood (which we all know is really blue underneath)
of ruby upside-down asses in cut-out hearts.
The fabric for these is faded, crumpled
but I will say clean and they are so much heavier
to run up the poles.
I do it dutifully
and never half mast
I want the wind to see these first.
Yet on seeing
I know the wind, like people
sometimes breezes color blind.
This is where the devious in me relies on the fact
red and green color blindness
is by far the most common form
and causes problems in distinguishing