The color of crayons

Was it a planetary influence,
or my own 
behavior?
i evaded the question
somehow
having reached down underneath
my bed
and not having found
them,
i sat up scratching
my scalp
through mussed hair
searched in my closet, in my
dresser draws,
threw in, “Hey, mom, have you
seen them?”
for good measure.

Looked out the front door, what
was that on my
my dad’s 
car’s dashboard?
I ran out into sweltering
heat,
jumped over spoked obstacles
peered through curved 
glass,
there they were
“confusion now, the crayons
masterpiece”
the dashboard looked like 
our dining room table
with multi-colored 
tablecloth,
cleaned them up the best
i could
heard my dad’s voice,
“Let’s go for 
a ride!”

Gee, dad, your car looks great!
i stated while snapping in 
my seat belt,
he said, “Thanks!” as he turned 
the A/C on high…
blizzard blue, mellow yellow
and other 
assorted colors had melted 
into the vents,
i turned up the radio to quiet
the smell
one tattered piece of 
crayon paper
then another, flitted into
his lap
my dad’s speech nearly
burst my ears,
i got grounded for
a week.

 

Copyright © 04/01/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

Image

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4 comments on “The color of crayons

  1. This is a great writing – our mind forgets many times what we do with our things & when we find them it’s amazing what a bliss or a mess! Love these images and the relationship between the Dad & his son – I could vision the car’s dash!! Loved it!

  2. I can totally relate to this poem….well done Lance….vivid imagery!

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