Forty shades of green

Forty shades of green

Kelly sorts his colours.
Is that blue-green or green-blue,
two of the forty shades of green
or the chartreuse of peeling paint
or hidden liquor? The lime in the coconut
or still on the tree, the hunter
in the evergreen forest of pine,
the sickening pus from the putrid
pimple that must be popped,
as jars of pickles, emerald gems
hidden at the back of the shelf,
cry out to be remembered,
like the gems and malachite
stashed in your freshly painted drawers.
Sea green you said? More like sage
that mirrors the colors of a damp drear day,
dripping on grey-green snow-covered moss.
Shall we count copper coins and spires,
now viridian shades of antiquity
or the verdigris of regret.
How Heineken in glass-bottles,
apples, pears or pistachios,
neon-spring or Kelly green
define us. Ah — that's MY colour.

© Kåre Enga (17.mars.2025)

24 lines