On Being Turquoise

sometimes i’m so extra so shoulder pads

so ten-dollar words accumulating in the sky

but my bad, bitch baroque doesn’t suit

today’s weather of plain white t-directness:

in less than a week we move south & so

i’ve said the goodbyes, packed feelings into boxes

cloaked myself in the last roll of bubble wrap

to be carried out & away & i’m unsure how

i’ll manage without the seasonal moods i’ve grown

to rely on. florida will do you some good. all that humidity

& vitamin-c although the taste of cantaloupe

makes absolutely no sense. due to earth’s heating

by 2050 london will feel more like barcelona

& seattle will feel like san francisco

& the real question is where does that depression go?

does it migrate north with honking v’s of geese?

i’ve listened to other girls: mercury’s in retrograde

& turquoise is an emotion & ugh bring me baaack

but i’ve read the farmer’s almanac i’m on the outs

with change, eating a soul-destroying meal—

twinkies, register fruit—at a gas station, in a golden hour

that is well-intentioned now is the time

to reflect, to think what we desire most:

a cool linen vernacular or this old bitter girl

who lives in the blueish grasp

between winter & more winter.