You notice blue
bonnets blooming
on Texas highways,
blue hues in birds
not normally blue
but black and blue
like grackles’ heads,
old ladies with blue hair
not on black, but white
the tint a rinse gone awry,
a bad dye job like the time
you pulled up in the garage
not one, not two, not three
but four hours late,
your hair orange. You
said it looked better than
before first glance
of green, you’d seen a horror
movie: Frankenstein. Oh, how
you’d die if social climbers
disclosed ungodly sheens
not once, not twice, but three
times red and gray
gone green
gone yellow
gone orange
flecks of thread in blue
couch where we’d sit
and chat, just the two of us,
over coffee and blueberry scones.
—Laurie Kolp, from Hello, It’s Your Mother, Finishing Line Press