We dug you out and hung you.

A flag persuades the banderole,
gives us reason to sing.

We should have minced you,

zipped your fable. You blacked
out bingos, snipped stings,

bought us a glass unicorn. We

took a picture. We handled
emeralds of your strangeness,

left two unwashed in our teeth.

Some things are also and some
are still. You won’t be cut down

from this house. Petulant weevil,

you rain on dust and eat Fridays
of our bravura. Many times

we might or must turn open the table

to your irascible symmetry. Purple
arranges the season,

dedicates your face.