Coloring (originally published in The Literary Underground - 3/9/2025)

Coloring
 
My parents bought a used ’65 Dodge Dart,
white inside and out, dad’s pride and joy,
and I, just a boy left unbuckled, untethered,
saw the back of the front seat as a blank
canvas, which I covered in patternless
Crayola-tones, an abstract masterpiece, faded
to black and white in memory. Consequences
swift but not corporal. Lesson learned:
elbow grease cleans wax off vinyl.
 
Flash forward to a different world where
artificial light explodes from all
my screens, distracting and assaulting me
with hues no naive technicolor musical
could have foretold, while a gloomy
future looms uncertainly in shades of gray
and sepia-brown, and my clicking knees
and knuckles count the seconds. Punishment
for the simple crime of having survived.
 
And now, having lived through sixty-two
gray winters, green springs, white-hot
summers and firework-bright autumns,
all scrambled together in a shapeless swirl
of errors and triumphs, revelations and deceits,
injuries sustained and inflicted,
 
I still paint outside the lines, with words
instead of crayons, and still usually clean up my own mess.