It’s like charades, she says, her nod speaking no.
You talk, but make me guess what you mean.
For the colorblind man, red, yellow, green
say nothing. Only top, middle, bottom.
You say you love me. But do you
even know my middle name? What color are my eyes?
You once had a hammer with a brown, wooden handle.
You knew how to swing it. To find the nail every time.
You have to go, she says, fretfully
pulling at her earlobe. Sounds like. Get a clue.
This wood is split. This nail will not hold. Leave
clueless now and drive till nothing says stop. Go.