The Revolution will be in Colour

© Tom Drinkwater 2006

A mistress of a style formerly fashionable
She paints in the twilight with a turntable
Playing brightly coloured music about a bicycle
You'd never guess what she does with a popsicle

She consorts with green spirits bohemian
She's raising the red flag high again
She's writing a poem an a great northern train
Unsettling and witty and sharp and urbane

Everyone knows that her stockings are blue
But her lips they are red and her politics too
Her eyes they are green when she's looking at you
She might kiss you or just run you through

She's fond of loud noises percussive
Like slapping your face with her glove
Cymbals and drums and tin cans explosive
For her they are objects of love

Hobnobbing with fabulous fairies
She throws all the very best parties
She keeps several men on tight leashes
Who have talents with which she agrees