Green as a Sheriff's Pants

They said:

“It’s green as—”

And I said:

“A sheriff’s pants.”

The class laughed.

The teacher smiled—

one of those grins that stays awhile.

The kind that means not quite right.

But I still see it clear tonight.

Because that green is as real as dust,

pressed and starched and built from trust.

Not forest-deep or a grassy hue—

it’s the color of a knock meant just for you.

Not envy, not mint, not springtime dance—

it’s green like command, green like chance.

I never wrote again back then.

That green got folded deep within.

But now I write. And now I see—

that line was always poetry.

-

10:42 PM - Turns out, I meant it.

J. Lock