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Waiting to donate

Red is blood.
Red is anger.
Red is passion.
Red is the pulse of life.

Heat, energy, drive, ambition,
Determination, confidence, power dressing.


Adobe, Youtube, Virgin.
Costa, Heinz, Pinterest.
Coca Cola.

Steak done rare.

A searing pain, that’s what red is.
Sharp, and it leaves a stain.
That stain can last forever.
Red does damage.

Crimson, Scarlet, Monopoly.
Michael Hutchence.

Strength, get up and go, I don’t take no shit.
Don’t fuck with me, I’m red.

Labour, left wing, right wing, middle wing,
Nothing wing.
Wilson, Blair, Brown, Milliband.
Big, but not big enough.

Goodbye, it’s over.
Really over.
Kaput, the end.
No finale.

I don’t like red.
I never have.

It’s too much,
All garish, over confident.
Have you ever seen a mellow red?

But I reckon everyone,
However disparaging,
Owns at least one piece of red clothing.

Mine’s a single pair of racy knickers,
For the days I want the balls of Coca Cola.


Filed under: Poetry

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A playful story seeker, Pip helps businesses communicate better.

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