Chameleon Rudy Francisco

When I was in the fifth grade, I knew a kid named Javier
He was black, which was confusing
He was an African-American kid who spoke Spanish, loved Country music, wore cowboy boots, played jump rope and had a look on his face that said:
I wish a motherfucker would say something
None of us said anything

For show and tell, he brings in his pet chameleon
When he walks in, the eyes of every kid glaze over
Like the windows to our souls shook hands with the winter for the first time

A girl, with box springs in her throat
Felt the silence was just too heavy for her fingertips to hold onto any longer
Drops the quiet like a suitcase full of habits that no one wants to keep
And says, "So what's his name?"
He replies, "I call him Rudy"
When the class realized that me and the lizard had the same name,
they laughed uncontrollably.

20 years later, the irony hit me over the head like an empty Heineken bottle inside of the bar fight that I call my everyday life.

I get it, you see, chameleons
They have the ability to paintbrush themselves into what ever will match their surroundings
They do it so often, they probably wouldn't be able to recognize a photograph of their own skin
They think it is far better to be invisible than to grind their teeth into "I dare you"
And to ride their bones like a magic carpet
no steering wheel, no tires, no brakes, no battery