To me, it feels like there should be a super scientific way to predict which color people are more likely to wear on which day, because some days, it’s uncanny.
Some days, you can go to five different classes and the supermarket and the mall and everyone around you seems to be wearing a green shirt, or a gray sweater, or the same very specific shade of turquoise (depending on the day).
Maybe it has to do with the cycles of the moon, or modern fashion.
Maybe it’s a top-secret government conspiracy (they’re either trying to identify conformists or weed out the color revolutionaries).
Either way, such a conundrum deserves a poem.
Green Day
Today is green.
Green for the fragrant spring air.
Green for the patch of grass
outside my window
and good news over the telephone.
Green for the efficient edge
of crisply folded paper.
Green,
like the soaring soundtrack
to shimmering cloud
whispering over and under,
cleaved by emerald-scaled wings.
Green like the lowest ring of sky
at sunset,
like diamond studs that drip
drip
drip
from a grandfather oak’s mossy beard
onto the revolving sphere
of my umbrella.
