The Insurgent

It makes a difference whether he is rosy-fingered
or trigger-fingered. Whether, my lady,
he is like a green penny with Lincoln rubbed out,
or shining forth with a light all its own.

It makes a difference if he is one-
Legged, four, or no-legged.
Half-cantaloupe, parti-colored, undercover
or local color. Combatant ocelot, or
an exotic breed in hostile territory.

You have mistook, thou thing,
insurgents for peppermint,
Jolene Dark for Angel Day, mistook
a blue-green crayon astray from its box
for down-home blues.

It must suit like a scarlet cloak
on a young man, like Papi
for papillon, suit a sock on a snake.
Is marvelous, is sweet, is far-off.

A difference, if the operative
is the alien, the far-fetcht
foreign exchange student on his best behavior,
the scratcher at the window, the poor
translator with a far-off look in his eyes.

“How true, my lady,
And I was wrong.”