My Blue Heaven
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Submitted by Anonymous on 12/31/1999 10:00 PM Flag This Paper
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My Blue Heaven
I thought it was a Glue Factory-
a whiff of boiled bones
and the knacker's yard
excreted in the lee of the fells.
The smell of desperate exhumations
briefly fills the car.
I was wrong, the wind flicking
the plosive back into the throat:
It's the Blue factory
staining the air, staining
the village beck, leaving
it's cobalt drift of talcum
on window-sill and ledge,
tinting the gray-green slate
with hints of early Picasso.
The factory chimney steams
like a pencil designing fumes.
All this to manufacture Blue:
that stuff to make sheets gleam
bright in glossy commercial'
the stuff they use to justify
the suburbs' aerial madness.
As the ferro-cyanic sthech
recedes, i wonder what
strange manufacturer
makes all the distant stuff
that gives some inflated clouds
their whiter than cotton whiteness?
What heavenly smell, pray,
lies behind all that?