When I reach the stage of my life when I need a wheel barrow. It absolutely will not be red.
Furthermore, it will in no way be glazed with rain. And there will certainly not be any white chickens.
Take that William Carlos Williams!
Nothing would depend on a freeking red wheel barrow if he hadn't said that it did. Four bloody words at the beginning of that poem and all of a sudden it's so bloody brilliant that it has to show up in every single English/Writing class.
It's worse than Wallace Stevens and his blackbirds.
Maybe I'm just grumpy because I didn't get to sleep much last night.