I wrote myself a poem, my publisher liked it fine,
Except for the word orange, that featured in line nine,
I said, what's wrong with orange? He said, it's almost red,
Please stick to grey or neutral, my publisher, he said.
Can I use the colour purple, I asked, a mite perplexed,
Well, once, but don't get zealous, or sound too over-sexed,
We convey sex with a colour, I said, and he said, yes,
No shades of black or scarlet, and never on a vest.
And will you run this poem, I asked, no ifs or buts,
And he smiled and said, of course, my dear, if you OK the cuts.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved