Monday, March 5, 2018

Contracting with the Color God

One day he had displayed gradations of such
mild sunlit colors as you would associate with hay.
The next, he’s taking on innumerable shades of blue.
He’d always wondered what the Color God
would choose to use for him as his inimitable hue.
And so he’d signed a contract with that god to be
a human canvas onto which this Maestro
of all Shades would then array the subtle timbres
he had contemplated might be worth it to pursue.
An asterisk after “pursue” betook him to espy right
at the bottom of the document that signing it
meant he’d receive a bonus of eternal life.
Out of any god’s gateau, that surely, for a mortal,
had to have to be the nicest slice. What could there be
now but eternal fascinations and delights? The Color
God appeared already to have found him inexhaustible.  
Unless, as the unwelcome thought began to press,
he was a reflex: an all-purpose surface to imbue with
drippings from the chromosphere the Hue-god had
a whim to view. He never knew, he’d had to guess.
Would it matter? Surely no. Then, oh! – before his
second century of servitude was done, when it had
long been not remotely fun, he wished he could emend
his answer to a please-have-mercy-on-me YES:
it matters. But the contract was unmerciful,
as odds say contracts are with gods. He was its slave.
Its tenure was forever, an un-openable gate:
the lesson (keep your guard up with a god) too late.
He was bereft.
But then he thought,
what god?
And he got up and left.

No comments: