YOU'RE GOLDEN

you're golden,
man
not the golden brown of what you put in your arm
but your pound coin aura
(you're worth an infinite amount of them)
and I wish you'd believe it
but your glass isn't half empty
or half full
you threw it on the floor
now you're drinking from the bottle instead

nearly headless
with the less than questionable sense of consciousness you get
from all the wrong places
like the men behaving badly
trying to appropriate from you what's yours

sat on pink concrete
pins and needles
needlessly surrounding you
as you try to understand how you got here
wishing you were her
wishing you were golden