I despise that red crumpled foil,
Arrogant and self-obsessed,
Its surface deflecting every insult.
It’s been in this gutter since last week,
Torn edges, drowning in egotism,
I can almost smell it, floating there
like a bad lily.
The way you were, on that podium,
banging your fist into your palm.
The red behind you, your hideous snarl.