Roses Are Red


I have no time to think of you
so instead I’ll think of something else.
I know the color red. I’ll think of things that are red.
Roses? No, that’s too cliche. Apples? Too tempting.
Blood? That’s different. Yes, I’ll think of blood
and it’s healing properties or maybe I’ll contemplate
a life of crime but on second thought that’s a bit psychotic.
Perhaps, I’ll just watch TV to fill the void.
Endless reality shows. I’ll hang on to the Kardashians
drawn out whines or try to understand why
Blake is dating Gwen and not Adam. How comforting it all is.
If I wanted to write a poem on absurdity.

I remember the red rose bush in my Granny’s backyard.
How lovely it was even when the thorns pricked my thumb.
My mind back on red. It really is the most vibrant of colors.
Who doesn’t love a blood red sky? Rough love does, surely,
the dessert too. Not much green there, is there?
I think the moon finds its groove in that kind of terrain,
not impressed with leafy, easy things.
The air smells like steel tonight. I think I’ll hold on to it.
Breath it in. Exhale my thoughts. Funny how, all I think about
to not think about you turns into all I think about because of you.

-Tosha Michelle