ring fingers (fruit juice)

i've decided on mango.

windy peaks of frosted milkshakes
she writes her name in sunscreen on the walls.
sips frothy milk at gleaming countertops, then
flips people off with her ring finger in the sand-

it's simply too much
to like only 
one color
at a time
so lime
and pink greys and
chipped nail polish squeezing fruit juice over our heads.

she shudders when palm trees scrape her toes
and buys cokes at cold stores
and walks barefoot on fake grass
mini golf balls rolling over her,
invisible-

invincible forgettable too-laughable-to-care
algebraic eqations in high chairs
and mushy peas and keys
in unturnable
doors-

cold at night and cramming fistfulls of 
mint in her mouth and 
lathering her hair in sea foam.
she walks too loud and yells too quietly
for anyone to hear.