painting apartments with Art

bird thin

and gloriously unhinged,

his nose entering

each

room first, before him.

without

a filter,

he spoke as many old folk

do,

without

care or conscience.

loudly.

tall and lean,

still 

with wheat colored hair, 

still with his

ancient,

yet toothless grin.

battle worn

by war, by women, by

liquor but

full of dark wisdom.

always with a bottle of

suds

in the pockets of his

baggy

painter pants. the tattoo

on his arm.

a ship in grey,

sinking,

surrounded by sharks,

the Missouri from world

war two.

a pack of Luckys stayed

rolled up in his paint

speckled 

t-shirt while his long

hand held a wet 

four-inch paint brush,

ready to begin.