Palette
By: Joy Ortiz
Yellow screaming,
"Not a drop, Red!"
Despising the orange
Which swirls and spreads,
Forever changing
His lemony hue
To one deeper
And closer to sunset than noon?
Does the red gloat,
Overtaking his fellow,
Creeping across Cadmium Yellow's
Tube-pure hue,
Streaming an orange wake?
Do Red and Blue
Fuss and feud
Over "more or less of me or you"
In search of a perfect Purple?
Compliments go nicely
From a healthy distance,
But too close, too close,
And a shit-storm Brown
Spirals from the center
Of Blue-meets-Orange.
Black comes along
Bringing everybody down,
Sky Blue to Slate,
Berry to Burgundy,
And not a drop affects him.
Some are so touchy
Like sensitive White,
Deeply affected by any and all,
Yet his influence small
Changes little in them.
Frustrated he pours himself
Into friend after friend,
Yet they stay the same.
Do primaries marry,
Seeking a partner
To parent a spectrum
Of secondary sons and daughters?
"He's more of a Red-Orange...
A lot like his father."
How we mix and meld,
Changing ourselves
And each other.
What wonders we make,
A Pantone of people,
A vibrant mess,
Swirled and splattered
Together, together.
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