Red
Days of painting it will take
To cover it up. What on Earth
Possesses a man to paint a room
This colour, and a bathroom at that?
The hue is alarming, it appears
Suddenly as I open the door to go
In, and with violence:
The most awful shade of murder.
What perverted crimes were committed in here?
What stains were left that required
Such a scarlet drenching? It’s not a room
You’d want to bath your kids in,
With their chunky pink legs and blond hair:
They might stain like dye on petals.
The white paint goes on the roller thickly
And takes to the wall in long, sticky strokes.
It is beginning to fade.
I will lie in the bath and look at the walls,
Look at the fresh coat of white paint
And know that there are layers just beneath
The surface. Raw and bright and bloody.
