You Cant Have it all Exept The Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, and Lemon Lime

But you can have the fleur delis points of the green garden gate,
And the pink buds and creeper vines and the butterfly flowers,
Like the really flutter at your own touch.
You can have the anonymous love letters and lunch notes at dinnertime,
Though, you always know they’re from grandma because smeared vanilla cake batter
Still sits around the edges.
You can have the one black moor goldfish in the pond of orange ones,
With his budging dragon eyes staring right at you,
And when the time comes,
You’ll leave a ball in the water to stop it from icing over in cold winters.
You can have the bright, juicy, fresh watermelons that grow to the left of the orange brick wall down the garden,
That is eaten on sunny Saturday afternoons by young children.
You can have the happiness that bursts like popcorn,
Pop, pop, pop,
Until the tomato red and electric blue bag overflows.
You can pick one up, but you only have to put it down again because you’re on a diet.
You can apply mummy’s cherry red lipstick shakily onto yourself after she did for a big night out.
But you can’t wash those permanent lines off,
Only wait for them to disappear, so grin and bear those fat red lips.
You can have the toyshops full of screaming kids—“I want this”,”please, please, please.” That always ends in a harsh “no,”
And everyone wonders why we still take them to the heaven of toys and says no, teasing like a crook.
You can have the bitter sweetness of an unripe green apple like the harsh notes of Beethoven playing in the grandpa’s old fashioned living room,
Him asleep to it in his armchair—paper still on lap.
You can have the gentle beat of a hummingbird’s wing as it lands on a beautiful hibiscus flower.
You can have the jelly bean—handpicked by a child’s sticky sweet fingers on a Sunday—
Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, Lemon Lime, everyone as tangy and fresh—
Unique candy, from the very best.
You can have the radio songs—on a loop like they want you to notice,
And the car mirrors with the dim light that you keep on the whole car ride—even though it’s daytime.
You can have the short cherries on the trees that sit by the mocha brown shed,
You notice that they disappear right under your nose—sneaky birds.
You can have February,
And March
And April, maybe May.
And all the other months you can think of because that doesn’t matter to me when you still can’t have it all--but only no more than that.