Fire-Engine Red
Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
Today my nails are red; so are my shorts,
And, as I shaved my arms at CCH,
That colour flowed again. And, glad to see
My blood come dripping down, I slashed again.
Oh, fire-engine red looked fair to me--
.
But then I thought back, and I bit my tongue,
Recalled those fearful flames that burned us down--
Barely an hour before. Then came the rue,
And other flow resumed, splash in the sink.
Oh, what a brutal, savage thing to do!
.
I'm glad I dropped the razor...in a way,
As fury rang again in mem'ry's ear.
Self-care, you'd said? But I don't care. No. Not at all.
I missed those red flags--yes, I missed each one.
Me? Live and learn? No, dear; I fall and fall.
.
In time, I blotted eyes and all the nicks.
I blew my nose, I wiped the sink all dry;
I picked my bags up; left behind my hope;
Departed, eyes red. Left us there to die.
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- Published 5 years ago.
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Robert Quick
This poem is very good imho. Like submittable to a magazine or something, good. Pain is such a good motivator for art. Well good isn't the right word necessarily but the burning makes us productive. I hope that excising some of it helps you cope as much as it helps me.