Gray House

I read a story once
by some great writer:

all I remember was the man
going postal, his mother

explaining everything here
is so brown in the Midwest,

she mentioned gray skies.
The moral of the story:

it takes all of our energy not
to kill one another when the sun

is away for so long. We grow
up in gray houses, painting

walls lemon yellow, grip tight
on the handle, both hands.

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