poetry does not have a color

Light brown is the color of a latte or my young son's skin,

white is the color of snow renewing the world out my window
also of jail and oppression,

green was the color of tennis courts, health and youth,
also pine-needles on my street and the north of Thailand,

pink is the color of naked women, love, calm, and danger,

aqua-marine is the color of warm oceans,
lazy sands and nourishing coconut milk(which I've seen mostly dead on T.V.,)

red is the color of violins playing Mozart
or a late-night cigar, calling one to follow her star,

once regal Purple is the color of ideals and defiance,

shimmering pink, blue, and yellow are the colors of lobsters in San Jose, Mexico and other places I don't know,

poetry does not have a color.