Day 21 NaPoWriMo 2017

Standard

This is today’s challenge:  “I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that incorporates overheard speech. It could be something you’ve heard on the radio, or a phrase you remember from your childhood, even something you overheard a coworker say in the break room! Use the overheard speech as a springboard from which to launch your poem. Your poem could comment directly on the overheard phrase or simply use it as illustration or tone-setting material.”

Which had me schussing back to childhood, down the pneumatic tube of memory.

Pink

 

Pink is for girls. Blue is for boys.

 

Such was the wisdom

of my four year old playmate

who, like Barbie™ Doll,

was born in 1958.

 

Which confused me

as he lorded over

our snack time choice

of plastic juice cups.

 

I wanted the blue.

It was my colour.

My mommy said so!

I argued vehemently.

 

It was the colour

of my eyes you see.

We loved blue

my Mommy and me.

 

Pink just was not

in our palette.

Just open the door.

Look inside our closets.

 

There was orange in

The bodice of my carrot dress,

seed pearls stitched on navy taffeta

1961’s Sunday Best.

 

There was peach  – once-

in organza

for a wedding.

Pink wasn’t even

 

Branded Barbie ™ yet

She and I, last progeny

of the Baby Boom years.

But even when Ken

 

Came on the scene

they shared blue.

Odd in pre-feminist 1950s

that, in future, pink

 

Would paint and dominate

all things Girl today.

Just like Richie Good

said before 1964.

 

But my mother and I

she with the royal blue

chiffon scarf in the drawer

she never wore,

 

her paste sapphire

lapel broach last worn

on utility grey

power suit post-war –

 

I lift  it from

The Pinkie and Blue Boy

Embossed jewellery box

I inherited from her.

 

Turn the broach

over in my hand

Will I wear it?

Do I dare yet?

 

We are not pink. Blue is for girls.

 

 

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