under the blacklight
they glow green
and grow still
sometimes they’re
tucked into a nook
like a lost doubloon
ready to sting like a curse
for one stolen
pieces of eight
sometimes they fall with a plump green thump
on the lawn burning white
in the moon’s light
sitting like plastic children’s rings
stuck into the green buttercream of supermarket
cupcakes near all hallows’ eve, harmless—
or like tonight, behind my eyes
while dreaming, a memory, a fog of gray-green
shadow moving scorpion-like,
not carrying enough venom
to kill,
but still—
© 2025 jennifer wagner