Once paper for the toilet came in every hue— green or blue or yellow to wipe away our poo. And though we all liked paper that was soft and squeezable, most people felt that color wasn’t very feasible.
Hue was always optional, for you could still find white, which had the best capacity for capturing the light. Of all the other choices, white was still the best to help you find the toilet on your midnight quest.
Now in the tissue aisle, no color meets our sight. Green and blue and yellow seem to have taken flight. We use our toilet paper for what it’s created for without the added problem of matching our decor.
My poem isn’t delicate, it mentions words like poo. I hope this does not put off such proper folks as you.
You will perhaps forgive me for my word choice this one time, for feces’s not poetic and caca doesn’t rhyme!
Prompt words for the day are color, optional, squeezable and quest.
“A black object is black because it’s absorbing all the light; it’s not reflecting any color.”
Black as His Soul
Black as the soul of POTUS, dark as Beelzebub. As sable as the darkest night, tarred as an axle hub. It does not serve you well, my dear, to fall in love with black. It draws your whole light into it and gives you nothing back. Black will draw and quarter you, stretch you on the rack. It is the shade of Mack the Knife, a ripper known as Jack. There’s no good connotation for this tone of night. You simply cannot find one—try howe’er you might. Black robs you of your light and keeps it as its own. It is a cruel jailer, sitting on its thrown. Who would guess so many could be so misguided as to elect a president who is so ill-betided? What an ugly irony that he who decries colored skin should have a soul whose pigment takes all color in.
No matter how you’re drawn to it, please take a different tack,
for no matter what you do, black doesn’t love you back.