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.