If gray people were

the world we would wait

for others to colorize.

Anonymous shades in an

anonymous crowd we would

watch one another constantly.

Through gray streets beneath

an ashen sky wearing gray coats

and monochromatic expressions,

we would follow one another

in circles, thinking to uncover

a delicious tidbit, a scintilla

of interest, hoping to unravel

some brilliant conundrum that

could change the universe and

rock the stars in their sockets.

We would trudge up the stairs

and plod back down them again,

our hands gripping the railings,

our hearts beating no faster,

the carpet gray and threadbare

from the passage of many feet.

We would slowly come to realize

and refuse to believe that there

would only be more of the same:

pallid dawns and pale sunsets

enclosing our gray inclinations.