There is a Purple Door on my Street
lacy evergreens, squishy mud, cerulean blue ceiling and almost-gray clouds;
yet the sun warms my right ear.
purple and yellow newness share their joy with a springish day and
gravel squeaks under my feet.
ripples in rain puddles and swirls of silt billow to the surface.
four cars drive by
a smoker coughs.
spring is purple
and scented of mystery.
a neighbor with a mustard yellow shirt speaks
and baby trees stand tall with green stakes and canvas strips.
No Parking At Any Time.
the different heights of arborvitae remind me of notes on a musical scale
and i love to see trees reflected in puddles,
one lone dandelion bloom
peeks from a sea of unmowed green.
a walker with a curious gait pumps his arms out of sync with his legs.
pink blooms float and crows call.
garden beds wait for growth,
a smattering of miniature daisies strew thru grass
and chain link fences at the base of tennis courts bulge out from voracious serves and slamming bodies trying to get behind a play.
a rusty basketball hoop
and telephone poles with numbers -- like names -- 2188
stand in aloofish sentry.
even the doors are purple on my street.