In memory of Michael Donaghy
by Derek Adams
Man, know what colour the sixties are?
The Cherry of a V8 Chevy
and Hank’s Stratocaster guitar.
The colours of the past are always primary.
The chronastic prism splits lights speed
through seven electromagnetic tones
that Newton detected, and Einstein would read
time into. The brains chemical whetstones
grind away dull edges, sharpen artefacts.
Distance projects its Technicolor gloss,
to a Max Factored kiss on Marilyn’s lips,
or a spreading stain on Jackie’s dress.
These shades, these tricks of light, shift with the setting sun,
to Agent Orange foliage, as the decade slips,
leaving only what memory can possess.
With time the subtle hues run,
only the bright colours stick.
Copyright © 2020 Derek Adams
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