Mustard Yellow
Canada is afire and I’m confused, shouldn’t the snow put that out?
The Boston sky is an interesting shade of mustard yellow,
and there’s a pale orange haze where the sun should be.
Lisa, drowsily asleep-walked into the kitchen for her morning coffee.
“So this is Mars,” I observed, “Elon Musk will be so jealous.”
“Good,” Lisa said, “I was afraid it was nuclear winter.”
“There’ll be no breathing today.” I updogged.
We could almost hear the slow, delicate pitter-patter fall of micro-ash.
“*There’s aaaa bright golden haze over Boston..*” Lisa began to sing softly.
Lisa knows every Broadway score and can easily interpolate a song into every conversation.
.
.
*Webster: Interpolate: inserting something, like music into a conversation
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