It is a tragedy, this burlesque of good intent -
a morbid quest to wear deathly black & grey,
off-set by an apron with white polka-dots on
red - while I prefer my colours surely sweet
I hate the haggard grey and acrid black, in my
donning a carmine pyjama top, carnation scarf
& silver-white wrap I’m once again me, feeling
the warmth - whereas this barbarous and
ice-cold red, black, & grey depresses the joy
of feeling Bruno lying at my feet in an azure
blanket - no sharing my silver wrap with a dog,
carnation scarf in line-of-sight and Steve Irwin
Swimming with crocodiles on screen, I’m warm
again in carmine heaven; Bruno heats my feet
and sight becomes tactile charm - recalling our
school colours were red, black and grey -
Even my spirit won’t relive that…
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