The man sits above us
peering down like a predator
from his tower
that none of us have been given the right equipment to climb.
Some people admire this tower,
ruby red in all its glory;
those who feel it represents their love,
They are the ones who simply stand by
ignorant to the mere fact that the ground beneath our feet trembles more frequently.
These are the people who put the vile man in the tower.
They spit words at those who are blue,
and those who scoff at the dirt on their shoes
under the influence of their vicarious boy-king because to them the color blue is anything but tranquility.
To them, it means a “nasty woman” fighting for a position such as his
an effort he can strike down with icy words or dismiss by fanning bills from his pocketbook
because blue minds mean nothing to him.
But neither do red
unless it’s his own.
But maybe the blue aren’t much better off
Sticking their noses into the air and straightening their thrift-store ties
Saying they’re lovers of equality, but scolding their red neighbors,
calling others uneducated when they have no desire to teach
and refuse to accept that they too have dirt on the soles of their shoes
and maybe even palms of their hands
from not washing them after making enough calls on an office telephone.
In this world of red and blue,
I see little violet.
I only see the man up in his tower
watching us like we’re his mice
who can never find the cheese in their dark cornered mazes.