After Keith Haring

A boy wakes up in the middle of the night with nothing
but the shirt on his back and the crayon in his pocket. It’s 1979.
There are no cell phones, no computers, no VCRs, no cable.
Just the illusion of freedom, raw talent, and time to kill.
He draws a purple subway like the ones in the Big Apple
and gets settled. His first night underground is a little lonely
so he draws some companions: purple crust punks, purple Jesus Freaks,
purple drag queens. He decorates the cold concrete walls
with purple dogs and flying saucers. He draws a purple police officer
to keep him and his friends safe. But when the officer sees
his drawings on the walls, he yells: "Hey kid! Those aren't your walls to paint!"
So he draws a secret passage, and another, and escapes. He gets lost
in the tunnels. He catches a sniffle. He draws a doctor
who tells him about a virus that's causing boys like him
to disappear. The boy runs back to warn his friends,
but can’t find them anywhere. He marches bravely forward.
When his toes disappear he draws new toes. When his nose disappears
he draws a new nose. When his crayon gets worn down
to a little purple stub, he gasps: "I’ve barely started my career!"
Frantically he sketches a canvas, and makes a few purple marks
in the corner before the crayon slips through his fingers.
He sobs: "Why did I just bring one crayon, and not the whole box?"
But then the boy realizes the box would run out, too,
and there would still be more things he could have drawn.
The marvelous purple world washes over him.
He made it. It's enough.

Adrian Silbernagel is a queer, transgender poet whose first book, 'Transitional Object,' was published with The Operating System in April 2019. Adrian is a Contributing Editor at The Operating System and a Columnist at Queer Kentucky. His work has been published in The Atlas Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, TYPO, PANK, Bodega, baest: a journal of queer forms and affects, and elsewhere.