Beige

I’ll take Neutrality for a ride in a black beauty with chrome, long nosed with blinging rims, rearview mirror glintin in the sparkle of sun thrown from the day’s light. Neutrality will sit passenger, and I’ll look it once over while I cruise the highway. No subtle looks- I’ll stare memorizing its archs and curves. Imprinting its message on the cells of my body with every inching glance up and down its frame. Neutrality sits, neutrally of course, legs crossed in a balance posture, translucently dissolving into the back ground- at one with seatbelt door frame and the landscape sweeping past in faded wind strokes. Neutrality talks about lullabies of child hood memories, mama’s death, and the gift of age in a monotone voice, as if pedaling down the painted yellow line on a hill- toes brushing pavement as she picks up speed. Neutrality sees no point in fabricating opinons, but laughs a lot- more than I expected. I ask it a question but it returns my question with an arced eyebrow that looks like a smirk turned upside down. Tictac teeth emerge from ginger blushed conchs, “Breeze.”

 So I hop from freeway to a town road, turn the music up louder and find myself singing off key in an ice cream shop. Neutrality tries all flavors and orders some of all.