I am a blue rectangle
Think sky, in a cramped box
Think no frills convict overalls
Think bluebird road kill
My neighbours, the Whites,
Are exciting as lavatory tiles
As an undertaker's napkins
As steamrollered ghosts
We all play second to General Red
Who hog most of the picture
Who elbows us out of the frame
He is the colour of Mars
Of blood and thunder
Of tubercular spit
I am a blue rectangle
I have no desire to be
A squirt of octopus ink
A pool by Hockney
A toad's drool
I would make
An excellent Inuit's sideboard
A smurf's nail file
A ruler for a British admiral
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An art of a blue rectangle you have deeply observed and going into deep you have felt this well. An amazing poem is brought up ahead...10