Primary Colors

The sun hits the alleyway wrong,

turning the trash to a glare.

It lights up the cheap plastic seat

of a broken and yellowing chair.

It’s the color of sickness and bruises,

or the tape on a No Parking sign

that’s jaundiced and peeling away

in a long, ugly, sticky line.

They say that it’s bright and it’s happy,

but I see the age in the stain,

the way that the light makes it look

like a body in some kind of pain.