by Scott Wiggerman

starting with a Dickinson line (#1213)

We like March—his shoes are purple.
Even his J. Crews are purple.

Galoshes slog through soggy dreams.
Whose are yellow? Whose are purple?

Pigeons with their fast-food diet,
whose fat residues are—purple!

A delicious word, mudluscious!
So cool that our blues are purple.

Dude wears a sheer plastic raincoat.
You see? His tattoos are purple!

Eye to eye with a huge horsefly,
whose points-of-view are purple.

Oily sheens on every puddle.
From all angle, its hues are purple.

Do you hear those noisy martins?
Their how-do-you-dos are purple.

Clouds as tough as a boxer’s face.
Complexion and bruise are purple.

Look for hope in the flowerbeds.
One small hint: the clues are purple.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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