You'll have to take my word that I've written a couple that I haven't posted--and that I've been sick and otherwise unable to be here every day.
I just did a reading-between-the-lines exercise with some lines from Richard Wilbur, which spurred this first draft.
White gets extra credit. White teeth
crowd the mouth of the Bollywood idol. White gloves
clasp the flag. White veils wrap
the nymph cicada. As if our off-white lives
have no meaning. As if our amber ale didn’t spill
from brown bottles. As if our manycolored houses
should be crushed and dumped in the skip. As if
our gods weren’t blue and green. In white
we elevate our mortal skin, our unseen
and utterly meaty heart. We pray for succor, satiety,
sauce on the side. We chase apocalyptic horses
from our lawn of dead snow.