I write in pale green ink.
 Maybe I hope to be rendered
 Before the green screen,
 To blend into the background
 Of a weather map,
 To swim a purple lake,
 Invented in pixels.

Or maybe I want to disappear in the sylvan scene 
 Of my son’s yearbook photo,
 The kind of augmented picture 
 That did not exist
 When I was in school.
 Those enhancements 
 Lived only at Sears, in the tangible,
 As backdrops — Drop down.
 Roll up. Test. Try again — 
 As something painted behind a family
 Or a self.

The green pen reminds me:
 He says I am jealous — 
 He knows how words work.

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