the smart guy

the professor rubs his hand

against

the dry paint.

a worried look on his face.

he squints at

cabinets.

how long will this last,

he asks,

rubbing harder,

now dragging his nails

against the wood.

look,

it's chipping already,

he says,

looking up at me.

well, stop doing that,

i tell him,

slapping his Harvard hand

before going back out to

the truck to get another

wet brush.