Post Facto

He asked what color,

the post itself, not the blue box.

I saw it, plain as day, just this morning.

Pushed the mail in, pulled the flag up.

My mind went blank.

A gray, I thought, maybe.

But what kind of gray?

The way a stone gets, wet?

Or dry, like dust?

I had to walk back out,

just to look.

It was faded, metal,

a tired kind of dark.

Rust at the base, where the grass met it.

A fact I'd missed,

until it was needed.

My own seeing,

so careless.