On a Sunday full of rain I stopped in a gallery
for I was cat like in my hatred of moisture
I came across an empty room with white walls
and presently I was joined by a figure of some stature
what a marvellous red room it exclaimed
and perhaps then I snickered for the walls were white
when ten figures were stating the room was red I kept silent
when fifty figures told me it was red, I lied and agreed
when the number reached 100
I not only said it was red
but somehow I saw those walls
as an almost crimson hue
figure by figure left the room
the space filled with air that I gulped
as if I had been holding my breath
until at last I was left with the original figure
what a marvellous white room it exclaimed
but for the life of me I could only see it as red
the room when emptied seemed smaller
I reached to loosen my tie which I wasn’t wearing
I have a memory of a bus stop
I can see the street and the buses
on the far side filling up with people
I do not remember how I got there
or where I went after
and what city I was in
well that would be a guess
in time I will forget the bus station too
