The Pink Room
We walked into pink.
You were sitting on the golden rod carpet
with your legs stretched out
in a V. You held the headboard with one hand
as you continued to paint
another layer of pink.
Next to you on the Snoopy sheet,
the footboard was drying, still supported
by the bed’s metal rails
which stuck out
like skinny, robot legs.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad
if the pink hadn’t been Pepto pink,
if you hadn’t already painted all four walls
and the closet doors before telling us.
I’d like to say we thanked you
but we left you sitting there,
gripping a clotted brush,
the bristles clumped
like matted hair.