I.

Today’s prize is a lava lamp
with two convulsing orbs of gelatinous mass
that never collide or absorb

but rather glide past one another.
One Red, one Blue as Dallas Montana sky
Blobs floating in the clear white corrector fluid
as net neutrality for one’s citizenry.

White that shines like a beacon from a UFO
on a tabloid stand we ride
within their bulbous spheres

Within this aura hoping to be buffeted
from collision with opposition opinion,
repelled fears

A conspiracy theory never absorbed,
as sword to a crossbow
due to the viscosity and sanctity
of our belief that blue stands for freedom

The blue blood of veins,
the arteries’ red

imagining a great hand reaching
suddenly down and shaking
this lava lamp, this prize

until its emulsified beads
break to explore magnetic attraction
and repulsion like the bullet that sped
through JFK.

II

I once remember riding in the backseat of a red 1963
Cadillac convertible with white leather interior, 
                                                                              ​​​​​​top down

The sky brilliant blue on an autumn day
Dripping down like lava
On a meadow’s edge

As we drive slowly down a winding lane
Polar opposites on a Pointillist picnic
In the public square, our viewpoint
Scattered about like bocce balls
Or patrons in a mob
Mixing, conjuring, rising, falling rocks rallying
beneath the chassis’ feet
Marbles of fluid, marvelous as bath beads

I hold in my hand a Woolworth’s shoebox
With a dead pet rat slated for a funeral
Joining like with like
Determined to reform and float impervious

The blue blob floats and stretches

While the red blob
Descends and swirls like the thoughts
of a small boy thinking about a strict father

The wind blows like honey and vinegar
The trees an orchestra of straw
And then the dosey-doe of the cycle
Repeating in the warm light glow
Rising up from the base warming us
Making us float like dyed vegetable oil
In the heat of the lamp.

III

He held the dead rat in its coffin on his lap
And rode toward Grandmother’s house
The estate had sent the stern-nosed driver.
He drove within a sphere buffeted
With opposition opinion repelled

Like secrets from the truth
And never absorbed
Due to the viscosity of our membrane
And the sanctity of our belief
That blue stands for freedom

IV

The boy rides in the back of a Red Cadillac convertible
Solemn as a switchblade.
His fine hair flipping

Like Marilyn Monroe standing on a balcony
  Blowing a kiss to float up
               like a dandelion fluff
                                    a feather on the breeze

She watches her red lips
                             floating on the air
Begging them with her eyes
                                            to please

V

There will be a funeral for the rat
Father won’t be attending. But the chauffeur will.

He was an attendant in the war.
He knew protocol and etiquette
And would provide tools that were adequate
for digging an appropriate grave

For the moldering rodent
Rotting like blue cheese. The brilliant blue sky
will have fallen since to black.
And the dying wind sigh
With the fading clap of leaves.

VI

The driver would say in dark uniform wool. 
"A beloved pet, comrade, friend to bitterest end”
The boy thought about the upcoming funeral
as he rode in the red Cadillac convertible,

Red as the lips of Marilyn Monroe,
Red as the dead rat’s blood,
As red as Valentine’s Day in November

The blue blob floats and stretches
While the red blob
Descends and swirls
Separates the white leather interior
from the brilliant blue sky.