top of page
Search

Say I Can't See

Writer's picture: Molly FlanaganMolly Flanagan

2020

I wouldn’t call myself an Indigo child

I’d call myself a Green Child

But not NPR green (and eco-friendly!)

Or Mar-A-Lago-money green

Wouldn’t go so far as to say mossy green,

Celtic green that runs through my blood,

Just something different from Indigo

Less boho, more FOMO

My dog would call me Red-Grey-Green

If he were to suddenly confound the urge to speak

And identify me from a lineup of other petty Criminal children of the Vertigo persuasion

If my dog were a child he’d be a whiny one

He would whine up and down the halls and from

Behind his cage, something you would never find in the house of an Indigo child

Unless it was Bird Cage

Packaged mint in its original VHS tape in the dump

With all the other long-forgotten tapes, along the likes of

The Brave Little Toaster and Babes in Toy Land

Relics of that suburban wasteland we now call

“The Old Shit Pile Behind The Walmart”

Or, as I like to call it, where green babies are made

Us Green Babies we never get the chance

To live outside of our skin or in terry cloth robes

Somewhere on a beach, the first Makers of the Green Baby retired and died,

Jerry and Pat, probably, they were called

Jerry you fucked it up for the rest of us

Because now we’re Green Babies, in debt babies, no 401k babies

But at least we’re not brown babies

Can jump up and down until we’re all sore babies

Can’t hip and groove like we’re all funky jive babies

Can be color blind and broke and homeless and armed and dangerous and just going for a snack at four in the morning

Can’t be black, and blue, and green (and eco-friendly!) and masked and kneeling,

Face-planting, stemless, into the Indigo Child dream

Palm Trees and fruits I’ve never heard of and

Gun pops and the Fourth of July and

Green to buy green

Unless you’re a Dog who’s buying, or shooting, pigs

In a life jacket, floating

Drinking Malibu and praying to the 50,000-seat, all-access pass

Jesus (with special effects!)

Thanking Him and the Makers,

To Jerry and Pat and George and George and Bill and

Good Old Ron, that we weren’t

Born Indigo or Purple, or any other color of the rainbow.


Say I Can't See was featured in From Whispers to Roar's May 2020 Quarantine Tales.


2 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Rookies

Life brings me closer to you The divine says, here is the thread And every time I wield the scissors Making the decision to untie the...

Arles

A painting of a city in a crowded room where an old Russian man, neck bent, yells for silence. that city, a slanted word in a private...

sex-on-the-beach

can he have one here and there and everywhere, at each restaurant, at the pool, at the river where we felt free, but most importantly we...

Comments


Post: Blog2_Post

©2019 by Molly Flanagan. Proudly created with Wix.com

bottom of page