Purple People Eaters
Plumping blush of sky, that skirt,
shirt, polka dot reminder of fifth grade
and glasses, the molasses of a photograph
sticky in its frame, unchanging
despite the summers, the plum purpose
of time derailed in the mind.
Blind, we paint with
the dark edge
of a sunset, the lesser
pledge of the seashell, the frill
and fair remnant of a life
and we envy.
The dinosaur offers
dime-store rhymes for the taking,
making strange and magnanimous gestures
like a hug, snug in the surety there is
no connection, no flesh to press
nor face to ingest.
Did you think he had no teeth?
Purple like pain, the purpling words
of a bruised ego.
I like green better, maybe yellow.
Poet's Note: The prompt was purple...I truly enjoyed the exercise...others may judge the results.