Underappreciating Grey

Grey is the problem child at school,
because he doesn’t get along with the other kids.
The one told to wait in the corner, face the wall,
pull his socks up and think about his actions.

Grey is the forgotten old man in the nursing home,
who when feeling feisty refuses to put his morning teeth in,
and longs to tells you stories about how he single-handedly
captured a German town in World War Two.

Grey is the fat kid always left on the bench,
yet when alone in his back yard can do a thousand
kick ups, and is waiting to set the soccer ball alight
with his fiery boot, and a hole straight through the net.

Grey is the girl who had braces all four years of high-school,
yet when she sings with her voice like rushing wind,
every single hair on my neck stands on its feet,
ready to scream and shout and clap.

Forgive me if skip quickly by the exhibition
with the dolphins and the elephants,
and choose to linger a little while in the room with
the street signs and the office staplers and the concrete.

I pretend to muse to myself something
about the ordinary than the extraordinary. Yet,
in reality all I know is this: if you really must go
to Florida and swim with the dolphins,
you will always need grey concretes roads to get you there,
and grey metal road signs to stop you from getting lost.