Rhubarb Camouflage

Camouflage never suited me,

as it does you,

with yoga pants stained

from the bushwhacker’s brush

and tight fitting t-shirts

that sport a Chevrolet affiliation.

A mask of rhubarb leaf

with eye holes.

Peak

through

with eyes red,

keef fiend,

I see you

despite your disguise.

A shield enmeshed with leeks

that don’t leak secrets

or intent

or thoughts

of any kind.

I wonder,

what you wonder.

I wander,

where you avoid.

The woods are clear cut,

yet fully grown,

a simplicity,

duplicity,

of kindness.

The wunderkind label

Peeled off long ago.

You reapply it.

Try again in an hour.

Michael Carney