Alleyway photo for "Greyout" poem by Winluck Wong, freelance writing in New Brunswick
His backwards fall 
At a wall that appeared too soon.
His sideways dodge
On knuckles that scarred too often.
All he could think about
Was how much the blue against the black
Will stand out on the green
That stains the gold
They insist is just yellow.
All he could see in front
Was how the chest thrust
As the sneer above twisted.
So he connected them
With straight lines
Hurled at their centres.
And he limped away with the red
That wasn’t his for once,
Knowing each drop will cost him – 
And him alone - 
For crossing a line 
Drawn by rules
Not meant for him.

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