The prompt at Mum Turned Mom this fortnight is 'Colour', and I've been thinking about what to write and keep coming back to political allegiances, thinking of all my friends with their red and yellow backgrounds to their Facebook posts, to the conversations I keep having about who the hell it is that keeps voting Tory. On the morning after the latest general election I went out for coffee with a friend, to celebrate the Tory humiliation, and mourn the fact that they're still in power. I don't know if that couple were Tories, the poem was originally about a friend, but I've changed it to bad mouth people I don't know. Sorry about that!
Wearing our colours
We went for coffee to celebrate,
to commiserate, to pick over the bones
of what was won, what lost,
of who let us down
and we wished that everyone
had to dress in the colours
that showed what they did.
Then we would know who it was
who didn't bother,
who hid amongst us,
for there had to be someone we knew.
And the black dripped from my dress
which filled with Scotish yellow
buttercup yellow reflected
below my friend's chin
as her clothes turned yellow as well.
The couple by the window
were bluer than the sky
and the yellow-clad waitress
glanced at them askance
coming to our table.
More coffee ladies? On the house.
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