Pink

This is home now,
thanks to the in-laws taking me in,
crwys and albany merge at the intersection
of this Welsh city
set aside for the English invasion.

Bore da, dear, as I step inside,
bore da is all I know,

behind me, S4C is mixing cultures,
discordant soup of language,
as I trail confusion up the stairs
to my girl's sister's bedroom of girl's
cliched ideals;

of draped 4-poster beds
- this without my sleeping beauty;
- no girl of Disney, mine;

and dolls house tucked beneath the bay,
its dinette set all set for guests,
- I haven't ate there yet.

But everywhere, the walls, the floor,
the stippled ceiling and the wooden drawers,
the curtains drawn against the sun,
that neon-accentuating sun - that pink!

even with the night outside and her quiet snores
against my ear, that pink! the darkness cannot cover.
That pink! that invades my dreams.