Orange Taco Vans

Orange little taco shells and neon backpacks
Four locos in brown paper bags
There’s a crispness with these textures

I feel where it’s rough
I feel where it’s smooth

Like to observe and see the art and the colors

because if I pay attention I see.

That the shirts on the subway men across
The platform line up and form a rainbow.

That there is a green haze complementing the

orange taco vans of this sitting man. 

The white paisleys are dancing around the child

and his father as he looks down lovingly 

I know they aren't really there

But I decide they are so that's that.

I’m elated even though there’s nothing to be
Elated about except for my joy to see
And keep seeing everything around me

And the tears all sit within me couped up
But ready on a whim if they must come
The waves in my new ring are part of
My mural, and sometimes I get stuck
Within the curve. Maybe this is it.

But that’s not how waves work.
I see the sparkles again
Is this Whitman’s inspiration?
Or am I just growing? And seeing?
I can’t answer that for you.

We all saw it. The beatniks too
Leaves and sunsets and pretty things
I’ll keep sharing it with anyone
To salivate and savor the glow of
Fire in youth.