The Wash Poem by Scott Stevenson

the orange is your heritage
a mash of old easy days, the old edges
of the photographs,
rusted bicycle wheels,
the sharp autumn loveliness
and the sun as he falls asleep

the yellow is the honey-love
the ballroom dancing lessons,
noon in the pool with four best friends
and a beach ball,
the mustard and the summer music
fresh lemonade
gold rings for unity and
gold eggs for fictitious giants

the blue is in your blood
royalty and navy life, an ageless ocean
with its own world of secrecy
tucked away in the fathoms below...
the toothpaste clogging the bathroom sink
sky
and dark denim jeans,
bedroom walls for a cooling effect,
blueberry pie and its magnetic vibes
and the velvet texture of night

the green is your smarts
a set of beguiling eyes,
the vegetables and sciences, the speed
of jungle animals
permission to go
submission to the hills
and the steam of heated earth
first kisses and first opinions,
the air of the libertine crews
and magic sparks
(the glitter of independence)

the grey is the high stone wall
cutting off cross-talk: a barrier to breach
ice cubes cracking in the pop,
and the songs of silver bells
a cold mellow cloud-cover
and a chalkboard caked with dust
the business suit pressed and
ready for business,
the puddle of rain in the parking lot
where you splash, releasing worry vises
at last

the purple is unknown space
the grapes for celebration wine,
a humble French horn mourning
a brave war heart,
Mother's dusty perfume bottles and
evening dress
butterfly wings
the mountains in childhood drawings,
warm coffee shop atmosphere,
the lilac bush in the backyard

the brown is the earthiness
the underground undiscovered
or ignored,
a muddy grave and a filthy habit
rootbeer memories of being 14
and cheerful,
homemade tunes on warped pianos,
a cascade of chocolate hair
down your back, over your shoulders
burnt toast and the smell of burnt marshmallows
gingerbread men and the leather chair,
corduroy pants
the aged brazen romance and
the ominous forests in fairytales

the red is your flare
your fingernails
the fire engine's piercing call
and flashing lights
the valentine and the rose,
a dripping wound,
a famous pair of shoes
Christmas decorations that glow like birthday candles
in the murk
the sparkling necklace of a queen
thirsty for power in high-minded pride,
blind allegiance to the evidence
of an invisible truth
and the cardinal, the debt
apples hanging low and fat in their prime
passion, fear, stereotypical sex appeal
Mary Jane

the black is often used for evil
funeral attire and bitter licorice
the abyss you know nothing about
and never will
loneliness when it hurts the most,
chewing at nerves and making weak
the empire of positive thinking
books of numbers
the bottom of the universe
and the pea coat

the white is your esteem washed clean
a ghost muttering curses in the attic of a haunted house,
moon's milk
spilled on the deep darkness
the china skin of angels
and common paper,
common assumptions of God
powdered sugar snow falling from mashed potato clouds
the hottest flame, the brightest star
and the dirty kitchen floor
a wedding and a death,
and the victory in both
the canvas left untouched
winter frosts and spring innocence,
a random act of kindness,
a happy accident
that prods you halfway in the right direction
the deity statues in Greece and Rome
headlights
guiding you home