I Really Need Some New Material

I bought a red pen during the summer of 1994. I like pens and paper; I really do have a paper fetish. I could spend hours in the office supplies aisle. Don't ask me why. My dad used to indulge this prediliction by bringing letterhead, forms, and different colored pens home from the hospital warehouse he worked in.

Anyway, back to the summer of '94. It was a prolific poetry season for me, and while doodling with my new red pen, a poem appeared. It started very nonsensically, and only as a means to admire pretty, red words, but I rather liked the finished product, which as my poetry goes, was a rare bit of fun.

Whimsically,


Cindy



The Red Poem

This is my red poem:
Bright as a cherry and
tacky as lipstick--
shocking little attention-getter--
it certainly is a red poem!

It'll make no reference
to that oft' mentioned
body fluid--
(too obvious and overdone).
But it might go on and on
about strawberries and tulips.
Yes, they can be in my red poem.

Oh, the apple's tempting crunch
and those rosy puckered lips,
a firecracker sunrise--
all lend themselves nicely
to this vision in red verses
which speak of patent leather pumps
on that smartly dressed woman
commanding the obligatory 'once-over'
like a corvette at a stop light.

Ah, these crimson-lettered stanzas
now less vivid, alas, they're fading.
My pen's final strokes,
as its scarlet life is waning.

Should the ink run dry
before my thoughts grow dim,
I fear that this poem
may never be completely
read.