The Red Man


The man adorned in red
Scarlet sweater
Scarlet shoes
Keeps a cobalt string around his neck
Swung so that his keys run down his back
A noose
Tied loosely
As he awaits the last rites
It has faded chalky writing
Running up and down its stitches
The word of the gods
Perhaps a prophecy.
Why does this man
So obviously enamored with sapphire
Hold so tightly
To such a ragged piece of fabric
That in any language says betrayal
On a street
Where every house looks the same
Red doors and shackled rooves
The gentleman who paints his blue
Does it not for beauty
Or uniqueness
But for
Spite.

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