Keith Nunes
Colour my world
The piercing glint of the marble-white Mercedes in the brightly lit
summer sun was too white to bear so we splashed it with blue house
paint, phthalo blue, a brilliant hue that once seen cannot be unseen
under cover of closed eyes, but we left before the owner revived the
parked car so as to allow them time to interpret the nuanced
complexion of the reconstituted vehicle
The canary yellow of the vacant neighbouring house forced us to put
on sunglasses and drink pineapple juice and lather on coconut oil and
allow the screeching sun to turn us pink, and only then did we douse
the house in petroleum and set it alight bringing
out the burnt orangeness it so desperately sought
The boring baritone of the brown business building was so heartfeltly
disturbing to the colourful clowns around town that we gathered in
numbers and descended with long-limbed rollers and thick black
brushes and a chunky truck of paint tins of all shapes and shades and
began redecorating the square block of slabness until a rainbow
arched over the darkened edge of town, a
kaleidoscopic burst of vivid inspiration
In America, who you gonna call?
‘9-1-1
What is your emergency?’
Keith Nunes (Aotearoa/NZ) has had poetry, fiction, haiku and visuals published
around the globe. He creates ethereal manifestations because he's no good at anything
practical or useful.
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