Refuse to make the bed in the morning, to pull back those blue sheets and that blue comforter.  
Pick up a blue pen and blue notebook and write this instead.  
Eat blueberry yogurt, then brush teeth with blue toothpaste; there is some white in there, ignore it.  
Dress in a blue turtleneck and blue jeans before stepping outside in blue sneakers.  
The sky is so blue.  There’s no car, but guess what color the bus is…  
There is a lady sitting close by wearing a blue silk scarf, it’s pretty, don’t tell her.  
Listen to the leaking music of the iPod of the kid sitting inches away, 
wonder why the band didn’t just call themselves Roses.   
Speak to the custodian once in the building; 
he’ll only smile in his blue suit because he doesn’t speak English.  
Then stare at a blue wall for four hours and answer complaint calls.  
Mother calls around noon, says talk to your brother about wearing that blue bandana all the time.  
Say he’s a big boy, and then hang up the blue cellphone because someone’s coming around the corner.  
Pick the blue m&m’s out of the pack at lunch for no particular reason.  
Go home and watch the news and see blue bombs and bodies, 
and dirty blue oceans and dead blue birds, turn it off.  
Call brother because mother asked; he doesn’t pick up the phone.  Worry.  
He texts a minute later, stop worrying.  
Get in the shower and close the blue shower curtain.  
The hot water beating down feels nice but relish in the sound of it spanking the tub, instead.  
Why is this water clear and that water blue, something about the light.  
Look at green veins under brown skin and wonder why some people’s look blue.  
Look in the mirror and wonder what it’s like for people with blue eyes, if it’s really any easier. 
Crawl into the blue sheets and cover up.  

Don’t go to sleep right away, never do.  Think about the roses, first.