Just thought I’d share a poem to let you know why I had an aversion to wearing red for the family generation and family photos as can be seen in this blog post published earlier today.
I Never Liked Red
by Patricia Spork
I never liked red to wear—
too deep, too dark a color for my mood . . .
then the color fits the mood:
I do like red on berries—
strawberries and raspberries,
and red on wagons and yo-yos,
and even the red on baboon butts,
but I never liked red on me.
Red looks good on girls,
especially girls with red freckles,
and even red on socks—sports’ socks,
but not those socks on me.
I can stand red on tomatoes,
and red on cayenne peppers,
but I hate red on a lobster.
No redder red as boiled-dead red!
I hide like a leper
when red clothes get thrown my way,
and never part a penny
in clothe stores for red on any day.
But I’ll push a red wheelbarrow,
and sit red cedar chairs,
yet laugh at chicken wattles
and folded rooster crowns,
thinking red should make them nervy
of at least one poultry frown.
“Red herrings” in a mystery
can heighten all my senses,
like red lingerie does
for husbands by the inches.
But no, red on me, is not for me . . .
and so damn sure not for husband!
I don’t mind a red marble paperweight
designed like an apple,
or ruby rings or posted earrings
shaped like little hearts,
or roses on a bush or standing in vase,
for they speak of love in season,
and to me that is good reason . . .
But lips painted red,
or blotched on fancy dresses,
or red-eye in a photo
from a flash that’s gone astray,
makes me wish to be a stop-sign . . .
yes, a red stop-sign . . .
halting “red” offenders
as they redden up my day.
You know what?
It would be nice to
hear someone else say,
“Take that red away!”
Copyright 2003 Patricia Spork, All Rights Reserved Worldwide