prep and paint one week

it's a drug
house.
the windows
are blackened
out with
curtains and
blinds. the grass
is tall.
paint is peeling,
which is why
you are there.
and at various
points pale
skinny people
emerge from
the house blinking
in the sun,
bent like vampires
lost in
daylight. men
and women with
baggies in
their hands
come and go from
trucks and cars,
vans with faded
art like
washed tattoos
clinging to
the paint. you
hear music,
yelling, strange
arguments about
a dish left
out of the sink.
someone is singing
a song by
journey above
the frey. your
hand moves the brush
back and forth.
back and forth
back and forth
in the summer heat.