Intermediate

(DENVER ART MUSEUM IN JANUARY TWILIGHT)

Grey
dogs wilting with mange
days heavy with sky
the deathly cheeks of a stranger
far off summer thunder
groans from a sleeping lover
the low hum of pub chatter
hotel smoking rooms
cold hamburger, burned last night
the very last sip of muddy tea
waiting
washing all those dishes
the last four hours of a sinus headache
Grey can steal your breath like a cat

~*~

One of my less edited poems, but I am trying to post more. I hate that old wives tale about cats stealing your breath at night, but I like to use it in poetry. It is like telling kids the Boogieman will come if they don't go to sleep. In this poem, I was trying to say that grey is on the scale between black and white, both and neither.