Perfectly purple

Perfectly purple.
Plum
or evening primrose
I suppose.

I saw puce purple
pissy French merlot
chugged
from cardboard cartons.
A poultice on a pus
filled wound,

A bruise,
blue black mark
of abuse.
Not a gem, amethyst
or a flower,
fuchsia or gladioli,.
No damn it,

A livid scar,
fatal and awful.
Three day old liver,
bloody and raw.
A spleen,
sun dried and bloated.
The colour of lips
on a dead horse
or the viscera of road kill.

She called it (sweet Jesus)
Byzantium lavender,
but I saw
the matted shag
that hangs
and dangles
from a stags antlers,
before the rut.

The murky seaweed
that clings to dead things
in fetid summer shallows
cut adrift from high seas
stinking in the heat.

I sigh
“It’s stunning” Princess
I lie.
As I wonder why
bloody….. why
hair dye comes
in offensive colours.

I kiss my daughter
on the cheek
and pray (please)
it will wash out in a week.

-Dave Kavanagh

2 thoughts on “Perfectly purple

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s