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Saturday, September 27, 2014

A Crayola Kid

Once a year I get a new box of crayons
The week before school starts in the fall
I hoard their perfection like Charlie Bucket and his birthday chocolate
Cracking the box a little at a time to smell the new wax
Till finally I open it wide to access each creative color rocket

Black is for the nighttime
It's easily my favorite crayon
Because at night all the details are blurry
Which suits my drawing style perfectly
As it is lousy and in a hurry

Yellow is for the sun
Because who has time for shades of red and orange?
All my suns are the same
Shining like great dandelions in my skies
A crying unimaginative shame

Blue is for the skies
Except for when they are grey
But my grey crayon got eaten by Stu
I got mad at him but it did no good
So till mom can go to the store again my skies are blue

Flesh tone is whatever it is
I kind of hold up the crayons along my line of sight to judge
And by the second week I've torn all the labels off anyways
The whole thing started an argument once
But dad says I don't have to give a damn what some racist shirt-tail uncle says

My red crayon is my favorite though
I save it for special things
Fire trucks, bloody cuts, and Ferraris
A shade of those horrible apples we get for teachers
And blossoming red algae blooms in stormy blue seas