“Anyways, the Russians, no longer Red, are in the red - which, after throwing off the shackles of communism, is like having an irony curtain descend on them.”
“But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange and red, and red and orange and yellow, like the ember in a nursery fire of a winter's evening. I remember them.”
“I am the red wheelbarrow of communism. William Carlos Williams wrote a poem about me.”
“After Killing the red-hairedman, I took myself off toQuinn’s for an oyster supper…”
“After killing the red-haired man, I took myself off to Quinn’s for an oyster supper.”
“Red and raw like my heart, pried from your's, the two beating, no longer together, but a thousand miles between them when only yesterday they thumped in unison.”