is still there behind the bricked
walls,
on the corner
of Prince
and North Patrick.
how many summers ago
was it
that John and i painted that house.
our ladders
angled
against
the clapboards?
how many pears did we eat,
devouring
the pale
green fruit
hanging within reach
in the fall sun,
our pockets full.
our bellies
gone hard.
the owner encouraged
us to take
as many as we could carry
when we finished
the job.
so we did.
hardly a day goes by when
near there that i
don't think of him.
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