Colors are political,
forever arguing their case.
The Spectrum of them meets
inordinately often: to the tasty tunes
and beats of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue”
and Prince’s “Purple Rain,”
the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine,”
with strains of “Ebony and Ivory,”
“La Vie en Rose,” and “Don’t it Make
My Brown Eyes Blue,” “Blue Moon”
(too many Blues, the Yellows all
complain) regaling every hue
as each debates just what to do
about exactly which and who
and what should rule
the school. Humility
is not their strength.
But one of them now pushes through
their vast chromatic bulk and length
and waves its paws –
to flag them down, remind them
when the laws all changed
to let the range of them run free
and un-dictated to. “Remember when
eons ago the Delegations
of the Yellow and the Blue got drunk
after their eloquent orations:
and passed out, except for two –
who sneaked away, unseen –
and inadvertently created Green?”
a vernal hue hoots in the crush.
There is a hush. Everybody blushes.
(Red is pleased.) A grand collective
sigh now heaves: they hum along,
as Green begins to sing “Greensleeves.”
.
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