This is the funniest poem I think I ever wrote.
It's really weird.
It's called "The Color Thief."
I enter your room with my purple face, moist from excitement.
The black straw basket I carry in my yellow arms cracks
softly, in tune with the brittle snap of my blue legs
as I sneak to your bed.
Little girl, have you got a pink buttock to lend?
Or a cream-colored navel that darkens
to brown as it spirals inward?
Or breasts?
Yes.
They are swelling now for the first time.
I touch them.
I take the nipples in my hands.
They are hard and almost as magenta as plums.
I drop them into my basket and leave quickly.
The light bulbs I've stuck in the tips of your breasts
shine far into your middle age.
The clearest white I've ever seen.