I Spy: Late Night Poetry

I spy with big eyes
the color white.

I spy a white truck
making its way ’round the hill
to a spot I’ve never seen.

I spy a white car
driving down the same ol’ road;
with it, voices travel.

I spy a white laundry line
on a rooftop
where children are hiding
between the t-shirts,
dropping the socks,
enjoying the sun.

I spy bricks of white
that make up every home in the neighborhood,
that make up every house on the other side.

I spy
the color white
that isn’t what it’s made to be.