on the eighth day

by

Jude kyrie


*After the world
was completed
the day of rest taken.
On the eighth day
he invented the blues.
Even the songbirds
wail like an alto sax in pain.
Sitting alone on the bench
by the parkette
the color blue
Is everywhere I look,
the sky dark blue
dropping an
occasional raindrop tear.
A blue ladies dress
Blue umbrellas.
Blue memories
slowly jogging past.

The traffic
moans the blues.
In a muted cacophony.
Now a blue wind blows
gently almost sobbing into
a wailing drainpipe.

I sip my Gatorade
Its flat and blue.
A cool breeze
blows by my face
from the blue waters
of the lake.

I hold up my finger
to touch the color blue.
But it passes
right through me.