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.
Sojourning Smith 