at the grocery
store looks me up and down
with curious
interest,
not of the romantic kind,
but one of what
have we here.
me covered in paint
from boot
to hat,
dust and debris,
drywall mud,
a thumb bleeding.
caulking on my sleeve.
you have paint on your face,
she says,
hold still, then takes her hand
and with a nail
flicks off a speckle of
dried flat white
paint
away from my eye,
then another off my cheek..
there you go, she says.
now you're fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment