Colours marching along to
The beating of their
Children, wishing all those
Pregnant, bare-foot ladies
Sold their souls to them first.
Whisper, softly, red runs away
As the rain hits the green and tells it
Nobody loves it.
Yellow tries to keep a
Strong enough face to
Pretend it’s not the colour
Of an old bruise, and
Their blue and black babies are
Crying in their pink and aqua bedrooms,
Where people pretend they’ve
Never been before.
Amber tears come
Rolling down their cheeks, as
The storm outside
Places orange fear in their
Tiny, malfunctioning hearts.
Mommy and Daddy don’t
Love them, because they
Don’t love their grey circumstances, so
Mommy and Daddy (or
Whichever one’s around) say
“Shut up now,” with dark,
Brown voices, instead of soft white
“Hush little baby,”s.

That’s the rainbow
You pretend you can’t see.