Papa Red
At the end of the day,
was that hilarious man,
sprawled across that charming and
fabulous, re-upholstered, vintage couch
every chance he could get
(kinda like that throw pillow
that’s neither cozy nor not in the way,
but deemed stylish by the hosts
and always set in its precious place
and, most importantly, possessing
that pop of red I cannot help but see)
only seemingly our treasure, our joy,
and ever so naturally inclusive?
Or is he really just dated decor—
misplaced—
and brazenly obtrusive?
-Z
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ZACDAQ 