Skittles in Young Love
she sees you
opening the bag oh-so-carefully so it doesn’t explode, doesn’t let every morsel spill out into the corners, under the radiator. your crush, with her long arms and long neck, is within breathing distance. but you do not dare look directly at her. sweat. and then sweat.
she sees you
corralling your units of happiness. scoot them around like some benevolent god. greens with greens. reds with reds. strict queues. but also the two misshapen buttons go to their own quarantined pen, to the left.
o golly, she sees you
as you work your way through order of preference, least to best. if you only knew. the two bumpy ones, then the purples, the greens, always ending on the lighter citrus colors. the lemons and oranges of your youth. one at a time. odd ones on the left side of the mouth, even ones on the right side. a balance. you have never felt more in control but she sees you. sees you smile.
Jake Tringali runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and late-night adventures. His first book Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse is available on Amazon. The poem included is part of a series of five Skittles poems Jake wrote to try and be the Poet Laureate of Skittles, which is a title he made up, and the Skittles marketing team refuses to acknowledge him, so far. jakethepoet.wordpress.com
You can see more of Jake's work in 4.3