To Be Yellow

A man approached me once

In a college-town bar

He sang Hank and Johnny Cash

The lines and wrinkles on his face

A road map of his journeys

His hair was graying-black

His brown leather well-worn

He came up to my table

And told me seven words

“When I see you I see yellow”

I was a little drunk

In that college-town bar

I sang STP and Miley

That middling karaoke

Propelling my friends and I

Toward the end of the night

But I remember that man

And I remember his words

And I remember thinking then

That I didn’t want to be yellow

Yellow is old cigarette stains

Yellow is the sludge of algae

Carpeting a quiet lake

My sympathetic nervous system

Shutting down with adrenaline

Is yellow – my belly painted

For the whole world to see

I knew that he meant well

I knew to smile and thank him

But I didn’t want to be yellow

I wanted to be red

Full of vibrance and passion

Or hinting at danger

A rose tucked in a lapel

A bottle of sangria

Blood dripping from a dagger

Red is a roulette wheel

Red is a bra flung on the floor

Red is a no trespassing sign

I would’ve liked to be red

I would’ve also taken blue

Calm and ever stoic

Deep and mysterious

A hidden, pristine lagoon

A cloudless afternoon sky

An old Ford pickup truck

Blue is meditation

Blue is a saxophone solo

Blue is a morning in the mountains

I would’ve liked to be blue

I’ve thought a lot about that man

And his eidolon that night

I’ve wondered what vision burgeoned

And bade him name me yellow

Was it a splash of sunshine

Or a well-aged guitar

Was it a Sunday brunch

Or an April wheat field

Could it possibly be

That I deserved to be yellow

I’m sure he just intended

An ephemeral compliment

But those words instilled a challenge

I go into that white world now

And sing my passable songs

And try to remind someone

Of an aspen in autumn

I no longer seek blue or red

I go into that white world now

And I try to be yellow