Blue Upon the Flannels

Blue Upon the Flannels

The color is draining
And dripping to the floor.
What could have caused this raining
Under my roof -- past my door?

The yellow touches first
In the race to the wood panels
Drop of blue next. My lips purse.
Blue splattered upon my new flannels.

I sigh and get a pail.
How often is the rain
Going to prevail?
How often is the rain
Going to make me wail
As I watch the color drain?

Colors still ooze from their place
upon my walls.
The rain makes them race
until the last drop falls.

“You can’t make me do this.
I refuse to clean up again,”
A drop of red next to me. I hiss,
“There’s no point to this. Nothing to attain!
“How dreadful could it be if I’m remiss?
“There’s no point in giving in to the rain.”

I set down the pail.
I walk out the door.
I have yet to fail.
I can still do more.

But then I look up. The sky is clear.
I blink. This can’t be real.
No way those clouds could just disappear.
But there’s the sky. Bright blue and ideal.

What does this mean?
Where’s the rain?
How is the sky so serene?
What else could make the colors drain?

“I’M NOT INSANE!”

I bolt up in bed.
I stare at the wall.
No colors bled.
Of course, it was all
inside my head.