Another poem in my colour series.

Yellow

is

something mellow
that gets the yolk,

the buttercup duckling
wrapped in chubby fingers, cradling,

it don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that lemon zing,

butter creaming,
icing sugar dreaming,

sunflower beaming,
Coldplay streaming,

cows milk churning,
cheese wheels turning,

banana paddle-popping
corner shop-a-stopping,

sunbeam slating
the unhappiness, deflating,

so tie a welcome ribbon
round the old oak tree,

or

sinister like yellowcake in the hands
of anyone,

a fever lingering in the blood
of mosquitoes,

the sheen of the underbelly
of a suspect snake,

the label of a coward in the face
of fear,

the jaundiced hue of the face of the man
with a failing liver,

and the phlegm from the lungs of the one
with emphysema,

or the ageing letters cramped in the diminishing space
of the nursing home,

as well as the caution sign on the door,
hazard ahead.