Bridget and I met on the wharf
And struck up a relationship
On the basis of indigo purple, velvet ochre and green.
I lamented the diluting of purple
And the degradation of the old lasiandra
In its latest faithless manifestation into lilac and tibouchinaed purple.
I hate lilac.
And Bridget agreed
And she had a bright green raincoat
The best I’d ever seen
From Vinnies, to back it up.
I had an enormous Lasiandra
In the garden blooming across the laundry roof
Which one day just curled up its toes
Forget that I had just painted
Two rooms in indigo purple, velvet ochre and green
To reflect and honour her beauty.
Bridget has a purple room in Adelaide
With potato prints across one wall.
And no regrets.