She passes the kiosk where bracelets slide
down the pillars they droop
strands of string, they aptly hang
without such lively color

And by the fountain, this gentleman flicks
a rusted penny onto greying tiles
your wish does not command
but commands are something you wish you had
to live that life,
in lively color

Out the window, the weekend lives
in clouds defying what weather should be
your tea will spill
your keyboard dies
you depart your office
lacking color

Bedspreads wrinkled, bus stops filled
with dozens absorbed in a journey not begun
to you, to all, anyone but them
they wish you well,
catching color

And me? I’m watching a show without plot
On a couch
Pale as ever.