Shades of blue
He grew up on the blue line
between green spaces
and white trails,
joined jejune dots on tube maps
like Georges Seurat’s
childhood nightmares,
was impressed by twin impostors
standing stock still
through dark tunnels,
dreamed of driving to Cockfosters
in a steam train
made of money.
Watching rain drip down the windows
he saw Pollocks
in the background
of the Mondrians on the seating
between Northfields
and South Ealing.
Hearing Heathrow every morning
he held Rothko
in his dreamline,
he grew up international
through the blue line,
blue as Yves Klein.
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