Redwood
Redwood, you’re the Shadow secretary?
I guess so, he muttered.
Not caring that I am of voting age.
That’s what they tell me.
Preceded by Hunt? Succeeded by Hague?
Tell me, did your baby sister die of the plague?
Were you the one who resigned from the cabinet in ninety-five?
Not able to relate to most people alive?
Let’s not forget “Redwood versus Deadwood,” he told me proudly.
But weren’t you defeated, and pretty loudly?
And dropped in mid shuffle? Wasn’t that you?
He huffed off mad finally, showing his irritation so blue.
I saw him miming a song on his way out.
That’s when I knew he was in a really big pout.
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