—with nods to Maggie Smith and Mike White

A boy draws the sun onto which appears
a magnificent hat, a rainbow
sketched just to the left

of the triangular trees, which makes me
wonder about the things we say yes to
when crafting our good bones

into a dwelling place, a scaffolding
such as it is—on which to drape our
many-hued hides that hide

our gorgeous organs from too much sun—
the heart, here, the liver, there, kidneys,
the intestines curled up like those

extra dimensions we can’t normally see, the brain
placed near the roof like a light in the attic,
covered with a thatch of sod

for the wildflowers to grow in,
the goats to eat,
or just a metal roof

dusted with pollen and bird shit,
a few brown birds floating by,
the rain spitting down,

all the colors running together,
all the yeses drifting up
like good ideas do.