Imagination’s Real

Back in the day 

before elderly women 

preferred to become blonde,

grey turning to blue was common.

“Look at that lady there, she’s got blue hair.

Look, mummy!” he said loudly, 

“I don’t like blue hair, do you!”

as she squirmed with embarrassment.

Blue was a dead give away 

of aged artifice

as, unlike blonde

natural hair can never be blue,

it doesn’t bend the light like feathers

to make that specialist refraction

of reality.

So it was a dead give away

of pretence

or fantasy, 

of unreality,

or imagination.

But sometimes that’s perfect,

perfectly fit for purpose.

“Look at the horses in that painting.

they’ve got blue hair! 

Look, mummy, look” he shouted, 

“I like their blue hair, don’t you?

It makes my imagination real!”

She laughed in agreement 

and thought there was an artist in the making.


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