by Jacob Warn

Green was the colour of day
when clods stuck to corduroy
on cool mornings as a boy.

Green was aching for envy
at the daisy chain she’d plucked
and his chin gleaming with buttercups.

Green was the lie of sucking
grass – a child’s drug – and sap
that boys claimed an aphrodisiac.

Green hued in the teens for crack,
and the Mac, and the jack
and the grey-citied album-track.