On the streetcar with the house-
covered hills passing by,
the woman whose world just
flooded overnight grins at me.
“God must have really liked it,”
she says.
“There is so much of it.”

“Of what?”
To my inquiry she smiles,
spreads her fingers wide,
presents to me her
fantastically manicured hands.

Replies,
“Blue.”
As if I knew all along.

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