I Might Be
What makes a girl say “I’m bipolar.”
Those green lights sure were rusty.
And my car seemed to grow rusty with that shimmer.
And you go on through 1400 poems while being bipolar.
As you roar.
Like a scratchy spot you shook hands with.
Ummm.
No one really asked if I was.
They just slammed nothing-pages at my feet.
I might be bipolar.
At some point I glommed onto that green light.
Lights, and lights, and lights.
You got through poems being bipolar.
Yes, girl I did.
You’ll be bipolar no matter what kind of car you drive.
Or what kind of lights come next.
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