"Kissing Red for Luck"

"I've got to kiss that red for luck,"
the elderly lady said, seeing my African Gray's
red tail and tossing him a kiss. And all day,
what I've seen is red: the slowly deepening red
of ripening blackberries; the light red
of cranesbill seed pods, obscured in high grass;
the fishing line's bright plastic float, neon
against the brown-green river; the swing
of the watch's second hand; the collar
on the chihuahua in the driver's window
of a Lincoln Continental; the orange-red
of burning charcoal; plastic beer cups
on the patio of a Mexican restaurant;
a filet mignon, rare-red; faces anger-flushed;
the shriek of brakelights in the dark;
the dusky red Antares, Scorpion's heart
beating through the night. Tossing kisses,
I await the results.