Pink
May 1 2014


The trouble with pink
is like the pipsqueak in the playground,
pushed around
by the primary colours.
Too pastel, pastiche,
a pale imitation
of the real thing.

Pink is watered down
namby-pamby.
While red is manly,
the stuff of blood and war.
And red is randy,
perfusing lips, flushed skin
and other unmentionables.

They paint prisons pink
to placate the inmates.
And there is princess pink
of little girls at play.
But a man in pink
is a serenely confident statement
-- I am secure
in my masculinity,
with a soft sensitive side.

My pink tie
knotted, pressed
slips up around my neck.
Her certain hands
deftly cinching it tight.

The latest addition to the "colour" series.

In the late 19th century, when this custom was conceived, boys were assigned pink, girls blue. Because pink was a watered down version of red, the manly colour of war. While blue was the sky -- innocuous and omnipresent, always there in the background. I have no idea how or when they became inverted; but today, pink is so thoroughly feminized that men are reluctant to even be seen in it.

This was a silly fun poem to write. "P"s are great for alliteration. And the slightly bemused confused man, who is brave enough to wear pink, but under the thumb of a take-charge woman, can't help but elicit a sympathetic smile.