I.
Little known fact // the first horse was actually pink // pink like the first breath out of the womb // the oh-God-I’m-here one // pink like people are seeing you clearly // pink like my nailbeds in the waiting room // pink erasers that bring whatever came before to extinction. // I stared for a long time at a photograph of Harvey Weinstein’s pink lips // and grew furious // they have no right to be so ordinary.
II.
The second horse // to me // will always be silver. // Ash trays and razor blades // duct tape and trains. // The ongoing reign of wristwatches // mirrors // and armor. // There’s lately talk of silver on TV // an old flute they didn’t want Lizzo to play // a tycoon’s stainless-steel spacecraft // a robot battles a pipe-bomb where I buy my baked goods. // Then, quietly // the leftovers we wrap in aluminum foil // to remind us tomorrow we ate alone today.
III.
The third horse of the apocalypse is yellow // like change. // Like the kind you weren’t ready for // calling a taxi for someone // never a shortage of road signs // traffic does not stop // slippery surface // the lane ends ahead. // The third horse is yellow // and not just for the irony of sunshine // or smiley faces. // But for that very first canary in a coal mine // oh to have your death be made an idiom.
IV.
We will // however // keep the white horse. // The one to polish off catastrophe. // White like bleached weather // glaciers downgraded to damp // powdered mildew on magnolias. // Paper cuts sometimes // lace catches on uncertainty // you botch the potential of fresh dough // eggs // I look at eggs and see only cracks. // White like cherry-picked history // white like nothing more to say // white like disappointment heard from a distance.