scarlet

Exuberant red painted on bare legs
blown away by wind
and unveiled into monstrous petticoat.
Heart protected in chest
held sternly by a corset
classiness offset by dirtied undershirt.

Walk across the road and
grab that handsome man,
make him mine.
Now he’s yours?
Oh, right.
Tomorrow he will be for someone else,
or not even be at all.
Good. Now cut.

Sit,
here’s
some
food.
Not hungry?
Eat more.
Drink more water.

Stop,
let’s touch up this
and that.
Her too fine hair
unhinged by a rapid breeze.
Again.

Stand still, you are a
benumbed rag doll
waiting for perfection
to be stitched
externally into her body.

Might be a while,
may as well go mingle
with the other dolls
where laughs lurk in stranger’s faces.

How long has it been?
Ten, twelve hours?
That will be all for the day.
See you again,
maybe,
someday.

If you’re lucky.

11 thoughts on “scarlet

  1. I always thought a petticoat was a coat. I found out I was wrong when I described a male character wearing a petticoat and a friend asked why he’s cross dressing.

    So is this about a guy being with the wrong person? The imperfections in someone, but how they try to make it look perfect?

  2. Your first stanza pulled me into your wood. The others wrapped me up. The last one tied me to a huge, where I will stare in yearning at the trail, waiting for you to return to dance again…

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